


The way in which my pieces shattered (and the picture that they painted)

by 44TayLo



Series: Your Mind's a Steel Trap [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner-centric, Canonical Alcoholism, Dissociation, Hallucinations, M/M, Major Depressive Disorder, Obsessive Thoughts/Rumination and Intrustive Thoughts, Past Suicide Attempt, Pining Bruce Banner, Pining Tony, Poetry Nerd Bruce, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Tony can sing, Unwanted Medical Experimentation, Use of Minor Characters and Major Creative License
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-06-15 20:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/44TayLo/pseuds/44TayLo
Summary: "The lighter in his hands felt cold and sleek, like retribution. Like Tony’s armor. He flicked on the flame and watched it dance, his other hand hovering over the small light. Bruce closed his eyes, savoring the burning sensation, the way the pain washed over his body and made his knees weak.This was his body. It was his body, and he wasn’t any crazier than normal, and he was home. He was home, he was home, he was home…"After the events at the hands of Mara, Bruce begins to heal from the psychological torment he endured. It shouldn't be hard to put himself back together. He's done it before, and this time he actually has support. Of course, nothing ever could go as planned for Bruce Banner. AIM isn't dead, and Bruce's past rears its ugly head at the worst possible time, unearthing old friends and enemies alike. Steve can't move on from what he witnessed, and Tony is left trying to be the grounding presence Bruce needs, even as his own tumultuous feelings leave him off-balance.





	1. The Broken and the Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a relatively short fic about Bruce healing after "What a piece of work is man," but once I started writing it, an actual plot sort of established itself. I'm just along for the ride, at this point. Don't worry, this is still about Bruce's road to recovery! There are just going to be a few more bumps in the road along the way...
> 
> This chapter is un-beta'd, as always. The rating may go up in later chapters, and tags will likely be added. Title is subject to change, because I'm not entirely sold on it.

Waiting was exhausting all of Tony’s patience. Granted, he wasn’t known for being a patient man, so there wasn’t much reserve to go through before he ran out and found himself left with a vague, but overwhelming, sense of frustration. He knew he had a deep rooted need to fix things, whether they be physical or immaterial. He also knew that Bruce had an intense aversion towards anyone trying to “fix” him. Which was why he was trying to be patient.

Normally, Tony would seek Bruce out to offer comfort if he was depressed, but Steve had been adamant that they give him time to process. Tony had argued with him at first. Out of all of the Avengers, he knew Bruce best, and he had been witness to a few of Bruce’s anxiety attacks and depressive episodes over the last year or so. Bruce almost always sought him out when he was having a bad mental health day. Or at least, Tony thought that was the case, if the ever increasing frequency of his late night visits to the workshop were any indication.

But then Steve’s eyes had filled with righteous tears and what Tony thought could very well be fear. His words still echoed in Tony’s ears,

_“You don’t understand. They broke him open, pulled out everything he hates about himself, and used it all against him. And they did it in front of me.”_

Tony hadn’t missed the guilt in Steve’s voice, and that was what convinced him to acquiesce. That, and the sickening suspicion that he wasn’t the person who knew Bruce best, anymore.

Bruce had been holed up in his room for three days, now. JARVIS was keeping an eye on him, with strict orders to alert all present members of the team if Bruce appeared to be acting on suicidal tendencies or attempted to harm himself.

There was something horrifyingly intimate about knowing the way Bruce’s thought process was likely devolving into a circular stream of relentless fears and flashbacks. What exactly he was thinking about, he could only guess. Steve wouldn’t talk about it, but it sounded like what happened immediately after Bruce had regained consciousness in the graveled remains of Hulk’s rage was just the tip of the ice burg.

Tony swallowed hard. When he closed his eyes, he was assaulted by his own fears and flashbacks. He saw blood trickling down Bruce’s closed fist, heard the crunch of bone as it connected with rock, felt him thrash against metal that was meant to protect and not injure, not like that. In his dreams, he heard Bruce sobbing and saw the fear in his eyes. Fear directed at the team. At Tony.

He didn’t want Bruce to be alone with those thoughts. He had a feeling the others were beginning to feel the same way. Three days was an awfully long time to be alone, especially when you were plagued by the demons in your head. Tony knew that better than anyone. And everyone on the team had been through enough to know that isolating yourself for too long while in Bruce’s state of mind was a bad idea, even if they didn’t have firsthand experience pulling Bruce out of his own head the way Tony did.

They had all been waiting for Bruce to emerge on his own or, Tony suspected, for Steve to admit they’d waited long enough. Tony didn’t think Steve was in a state of mind to make that call, though. He’d been despondent, barely more present than Bruce. He hadn’t actually seen Steve since the rescue. Despite his reputation for throwing social norms to the wind, Tony did respect the others’ privacy. He never asked JARVIS what Steve was up to, only if he was safe, and to alert him the next time he was in a common area so that they could talk.

Currently, Tony was reading through the data JARVIS had stolen from the compound before Hulk had decimated the building. Rightfully so, in Tony’s opinion. He wasn’t sure how Bruce felt about it, because he didn’t say anything the entire flight home, and immediately hid himself on his floor when they arrived back at the tower. Regardless, Tony had a feeling Bruce wasn’t as satisfied by the destruction as the rest of the team was.

There was actually a lot of data Tony needed to parse through, even after asking JARVIS to flag the most important papers and entries. It seemed the group that had captured Bruce and Steve was actually part of a larger organization called AIM. He’d had JARVIS send a quick email to Fury asking if they had any information. Hill had, of course, been the one to cryptically answer him:

_Stark,_

_They’ve been on our radar. We’ll send you the file once you finish your report._

_Regards,_

**_Maria Hill_ **

_Deputy Director_

_S.H.I.E.L.D_

 

Tony rolled his eyes just thinking about it. It didn’t really matter, because JARVIS was in the process of stealing the files he needed. This wasn’t the time for power games or blackmail, and his preliminary report for SHIELD would be done when it was done, dammit. He needed to make sure that this never happened again, to anyone, but especially not to Bruce. Tony already worried about Ross snatching Bruce up after a mission, when he was de-hulked and at his most vulnerable. It wasn’t just Ross, either. There were too many people gunning for Bruce’s removal from the team. Fuck, some high ranking officers in the Army agreed with Ross that the Hulk was government property.

His eyes drifted towards the file that contained an outline of AIM’s plan to force Bruce to tell them about the super soldier serum. It sickened him every time he read it, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing so over and over again. There wasn’t any information about what memories they targeted in the initial proposal, but they referred to Bruce as “the subject,” and planned to “prey upon the tragedies of his past” to break him so he’d be easily manipulated into giving them the information they needed. A woman named Dr. Mara Jackson had been the mastermind behind the plan.

After some digging, Tony had found Jackson’s notes regarding her sick plan, as well as her personal file. The file explained that the woman had experimented on herself in an attempt to express dormant genes that she believed would activate latent powers. Her experiment proved successful, and gave her empathic and telepathic abilities. She could access other people’s memories, but only those that elicited a strong emotional response in the victim. She could also distort the way her victims perceived reality. With those powers combined, it was possible for her to determine what someone’s worst fears were, and then make them live out those fears.

Tony wasn’t sure if he should be reading the notes she’d written regarding her “experiment,” but reasoned that they’d give him an idea of what had been done to Bruce. He hated going into a situation without all of the variables, and he couldn’t help Bruce get through this ordeal if he didn’t at least have some idea of what had happened. Up until this point, he’d only managed to get through the preliminary entries Dr. Jackson had written, which detailed her initial ideas based on background information (that information had been included in Bruce’s SHIELD file, so Tony figured no harm no foul so far). She also mentioned some anecdotes about Bruce she’d received from her superior, a Dr. Monica Rappaccini. The woman was the so-called “Scientist Supreme” of AIM, and coincidentally knew Bruce in undergrad.

Before he could lose his nerve, Tony began to read the later entries:

_3:34 PM, 5-12-14_

_Banner misses his ex-fiancé, Betty Ross, yet obviously feels guilty for putting her in danger. All of his fond memories regarding positive relationships are tainted by fear of hurting someone or being abandoned. This phenomena started soon after witnessing his father murder his mother as a young child. These feelings could be easily manipulated._

_9:13 PM, 5-12-14_

_There is one memory with such a strong emotional response that Banner has repressed it. This memory proves he has killed someone himself (not as the Hulk). He has also acted on self-destructive and suicidal tendencies without regard for the safety of others. This seems to be partially responsible for his fear of hurting those he is closest to. He clearly worries about turning into his father, and that is where most of this fear stems from._

_4:23 AM, 5-13-14_

_Banner has a long history of suicidal tendencies. He carries immense guilt over his mother’s death, and believes himself responsible for all of the people Hulk has killed. He also fears he will lose control and kill the other Avengers. I believe he fears his mother died for nothing, because he has turned into a killer. If so, this is the key to manipulating him into revealing information about the serum._

 

“Sir,” JARVIS said, thankfully interrupting Tony from reading any further.

“Yeah, J?” Tony asked through numb lips. His mind was racing. Bruce had killed someone? Who? When? Was that memory still repressed? Had he tried to kill himself more than once? How many times?

He closed the screen with a decisive wave of his hand. These later entries were much more detailed and a clear invasion of Bruce’s privacy, but he hadn’t been able to look away on his own. He’d begun to suspect that Bruce carried a lot of misplaced guilt and was still afraid of hurting the team, but seeing it written so simply had his stomach twisting in knots.

“Captain Rogers is in the kitchen. I doubt he plans to stay there long.”

Right. Steve. He needed to talk to him, make sure he was okay and try and make him reassess letting Bruce isolate himself. His instincts screamed at him to just ignore Steve altogether and go talk to Bruce. He couldn’t, though. He kept hearing Steve’s imploring voice echoing in his head, alluding to the horrors they had endured. If he knew what had happened, Tony could make a decision about Bruce being alone himself. But he didn’t, and reading the journal entries felt too much like an invasion into Bruce’s very psyche. Worse still, they didn’t even illuminate what had happened. He needed Steve to open up just a little more if they were going to be able to help Bruce through this.

Tony gathered himself up and took the elevator to the common room floor.

***

It was like an intrusive thought, but with life breathed into it. It assaulted him over and over again. _“Is this real? Am I crazy? Is someone manipulating me? Is Mara still manipulating me? Is this real? Am I real? Did the gamma kill me? Am I in a coma? Am I in hell? Is this real? Am I real? Am I crazy? Is this—“_

Bruce choked on an angry cry. His head hurt. It _hurt_. And he couldn’t stop having the same thoughts in an endless loop. He wanted to hit his head against the wall to make the thoughts stop. He wanted to drill a hole in his temple so that he could pour the poison in his brain onto the floor. He wanted—

Bruce stood up abruptly. This train of thought was no better. He knew where it led, and he was desperately trying to avoid that.

He also knew, deep down, that whether or not this was real didn’t matter. He could only ride out this reality or mirage until it concluded in either his death or return to consciousness. And really, if this was still Mara’s doing, she would have to be going in for the long haul. People should have interacted with him by now, asked him questions about the serum. No, he had to be home.

Then why wouldn’t his brain shut the fuck up?

_Because you’re diseased. Your brain is rotting, its poison leaking into your blood and turning you into what you truly are. A killer. A monster._

Bruce threaded his fingers into his hair and pulled until the sharp pain drowned out the voice in his head.  These thoughts were all true, but he couldn’t focus on them, now. It wouldn’t do him any good. He needed to get outside his mind. He needed to do something. He felt energy coursing through his veins. His fingers twitched with the desire to crush, break, rip, and paint his hands with blood. But he couldn’t focus. As hard as he tried, his brain couldn’t hold on to any semblance of a thought long enough for it to come to fruition.

He was familiar with this state of mind. After the creation of the Hulk, his morbid curiosity regarding his own fucked up brain had reared its head. It felt important to try and understand his psychoses, even though he’d given up trying to self-diagnose himself decades ago. He’d never been able to figure out what these episodes were. His best guess was that they were caused by his anxiety, dissociation, and depression coming to a stormy head.

What he did know was that these episodes made his skin itch, and gave him a deep desire to tear his flesh apart so the energy pulsing inside of him could be released. Because the only other option for release was the Hulk.

God, this hadn’t happened to him in years. It startled him to realize how quickly he’d forgotten how to cope. He was rusty, out of practice, distracted, undisciplined—

Bruce roughly shook himself. This had to stop. How had he coped with this before? A memory flashed behind his eyes. He was a child, placing his hand over a lit candle and forcing himself to hold it there until he could no longer stand it. That pain had been just enough to forcefully slam him back into his body and ground him once again.

He’d been trying not to resort to that. But at this point, did he really have a choice? He’d been in this state for… he’d lost track of time. The windows had been shut, and he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d been wondering how to find out how many days had passed for a while, though he couldn’t focus long enough to come up with an answer.

Wait, JARVIS. How could he have forgotten about JARVIS?

“JAR—” his voice caught, rough from disuse. He cleared his throat and tried again, “JARVIS, how long have I been home?”

“You have been here for approximately three days, Doctor Banner,” the AI answered. “I feel it is important to point out that you have not slept at all during that time.”

Bruce laughed, rubbing roughly at his face. “Would if I could.”

“Perhaps it is time to inform the team about your state of mind? Or Master Stark, at the very least.”

“No!”

Bruce winced. He hadn’t meant to yell. The volume of his own voice was enough to split his head in two with pain. God, it felt like his brain was a rubber band that had been stretched too far.

He didn’t want to tell the others. Steve had already seen him essentially skinned alive, his brain flayed open to expose his darkest fears. And the others had witnessed his shameful meltdown after the fact. He could almost feel the cool steel of Tony’s armor, his shoulders, back, and hands bruising as he thrashed against it.

He ached to feel that pain again.

Light glinted off of something red and gold to his right. Bruce whipped around, but there was nothing there. He clutched at his shoulders with shaky hands, gently rocking himself. Was he seeing things? Tony had been right there, he was sure of it.

“JARVIS, turn the lights off.” Bruce realized he was begging. The lights had already been dimmed, and Bruce doubted total darkness would help if he was hallucinating, but it seemed like the most logical course of action. If he wanted to stop seeing something, then he just needed to make it impossible to see anything at all.

Bruce sighed with relief as the room fell dark. It was short lived. He was suddenly aware there was something huge in the room with him. Something large and monstrous. He thought he felt it move, shifting in the inky blackness.

The Hulk. The Hulk was here with him, and now Bruce would have to face the little boy he’d locked away, abused, mistreated, tried to kill, hated—

_You’re the monster. You always were._

“JARVIS, lights!” he yelled.

Light flooded the room at full brightness. Bruce yelped in pain, forcing his eyes to stay open despite it. There was no one there with him, and Bruce didn’t know if he was sobbing in relief or despair.

He was seeing things. Now this, this was something Mara might do. Maybe he wasn’t home, after all.

He didn’t remember standing up or walking into the kitchen. He hadn’t even been sure his legs would hold him, anymore. The lighter in his hands felt cold and sleek, like retribution. Like Tony’s armor. He flicked on the flame and watched it dance, his other hand hovering over the small light. Bruce closed his eyes, savoring the burning sensation, the way the pain washed over his body and made his knees weak.

This was his body. It was his body, and he wasn’t any crazier than normal, and he was home. He was home, he was home, he was home…

***

When Tony reached the kitchen, he’d decided to hang back for a moment and simply observe Steve. It seemed he hadn’t heard him coming, which was odd given his enhanced hearing. Tony also noted that he looked like shit. He apparently still hadn’t shaved, and now a week’s worth of stubble was marring his typical all-American, wholesome look. He was holding his shoulders tightly, and based on the way he kept rubbing at his eyes, Tony would guess he wasn’t sleeping very well.

Tony sighed, taking a seat on a bar stool while Steve rummaged around in the refrigerator.

“Are you sleeping at all?” Tony asked, then inwardly cringed. There had to have been a gentler way to ask him how he was doing. He never had been good with people when it mattered. Sure, he could ooze charisma in front of the cameras and easily manipulate the press, but when he needed to strip off his masks and level with someone, he found it was much easier to forgo tact and just rip the band-aide off.

Steve just grunted in return, head disappearing further into the fridge.

Tony waited silently until he finally turned around to face him, Tupperware in hand. Up close, Tony could see the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“’M getting by,” Steve said in non-answer.

“Uh huh. Look,” Tony began, “I know you think we need to give Bruce space. You’ve obviously been needing space, too, and you’re the only person who had to witness everything, so I’ve been leaving you both alone.”

The microwave dinged, and Steve ignored Tony in favor of pulling the Tupperware out and finding a spoon for his lunch. It smelled hearty, and was probably some leftover soup Bruce had made before they’d disappeared. Tony frowned, distracted for a moment. There was no way that soup was still good…

Steve rubbed at his eyes and sighed, interrupting Tony’s thoughts. “But?” he prompted.

“He’s been alone with his thoughts for three whole days, and that can’t possibly be good for him.”

Steve’s gaze was resolutely on his soup, his hand idly stirring its contents. “You know he hates to feel exposed.”

Tony put his hands in his pockets. “And you know he’s self-destructive. Just because he wants to be alone doesn’t mean it’s healthy. Actually, with him, it means it’s the worst option.”

Finally, Steve looked up. His eyes were exhausted and achingly open. It made Tony want to be the one to look away, though he made himself hold Steve’s stare.

“You don’t understand.”

“Yes, exactly!” Tony held his hands out in frustration. “I don’t understand because I don’t know what happened. So help me out, here.”

Steve swallowed hard, but other than that didn’t move. Silence settled between them. Tony was determined not to break it, engaged in some unspoken battle of wills.

“What do you want to hear?” Steve finally asked, his voice absolutely exhausted. “That they brought up every fear, every bad memory he has, and made him live them? That I had to watch, and he knew?” Steve placed a hand over his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “Christ, Tony, he’s been trying to kill himself since he was just a kid. Then they broke him, and he tried to do it again.”

Tony’s breath rushed out of him. Bruce had tried to kill himself again?

Steve removed his hand from his face, and whatever Tony had been about to say died in his throat. His eyes were determined, boring into Tony’s own with steely intensity. “And after all of that, the thing Hulk latched onto was that I saw everything.”

Hearing Bruce had tried to kill himself again had short-circuited Tony’s brain, but he forced himself to think through the static. So that was it, then. Steve didn’t want Bruce to be reminded that he’d bared witness to all of his greatest fears and insecurities.

“I get what you’re trying to do,” Tony reassured him, “but he isn’t going to seek us out. It’s not his nature. And I don’t want to wait until he’s so far gone, JARVIS overrides his desire for privacy to alert us.”

To Tony’s surprise, Steve actually nodded, his eyes downcast. “You might be right. But it can’t be me. I don’t want…He’s so worried I’m going to judge him, and…”

Tony frowned, a bitter taste in his mouth. “His fears aren’t entirely baseless, are they?”

Steve sighed again, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Not in the way he thinks. I’m not holding it against him, it’s just a lot to process.”

Tony wasn’t convinced, and if he wasn’t, Bruce definitely wouldn’t be. Whatever Steve’s motivations were, he was right. It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to check on Bruce.

“It’s hard. To know someone so intimately without their permission. And to only know the bad things. I—” Steve broke off, swallowing hard. “It’s not pity, but I don’t know if…”

Tony’s eyes softened. He felt a stab of guilt for so easily thinking the worst of Steve. “I understand. But you’re right, Bruce probably won’t. At least, not at first.” Tony paused. He wanted to check on Bruce immediately, but Steve was also his friend, and he was clearly suffering as well. “Honestly, are you doing okay?”

Steve let out a tired chuckle. It sounded a little wet, but neither of them commented on it. “Like I said, I’m getting by.”

“Did they torture you?” Tony internally winced at his own bluntness, yet again.

“No. No, but they made me watch.”

Tony knew Steve well enough by now to understand that helplessly watching as someone, especially a teammate, was hurt _was_ a kind of torture for him. And it was unfortunately something Steve had experience with. Everyone knew Captain America hated bullies. Not everyone knew that Steve’s desire to stand up for what was right and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves was the reason Captain America was born at all.

“Steve, it’s not your fault this happened.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling again. “Sure. It never is, is it?”

Tony wasn’t sure what that meant, but he could hazard a guess. The tragic tale of Sargent Barnes’s death was common knowledge, after all.

“Are you coping?”

Steve shrugged. He absentmindedly brought a spoonful of soup to his lips. Immediately, he grimaced.

“Yeah, that’s probably gone bad by now.”

“No shit,” Steve muttered, pouring the Tupperware’s contents down the drain. When he turned back around, he appeared more guarded, his Captain America persona threatening to fall into place. “I’m fine. I’ve been ruining your punching bags, going on runs with Nat.” He shrugged. “I’m getting out.”

That was good, at least he hadn’t been cooped up in his room for the last three days. Like Bruce had.

“Sir,” JARVIS said, interrupting Tony’s thoughts. “I believe Dr. Banner is distressed.”

Tony paled. This was exactly the situation he’d been trying to avoid. He immediately ran for the elevator, not bothering to gauge Steve’s reaction. “How bad?” he asked, his finger jamming the button.

“He has yet to attempt to seriously injure himself, and I am unsure if he plans to. However, he is currently inflicting minor injuries and has reached a point of emotional distress that I believe requires outside intervention.”

Tony took a deep breath, trying to keep calm in the face of the adrenaline flooding his system. He had to keep it together. Bruce needed him, and he always responded best to a calm presence. Tony’s anxiety would only fuel Bruce’s downward spiral.

He reached Bruce’s floor in record time, some part of him realizing JARVIS must have increased the elevator's speed.

The first thing he noticed was that all of the lights were on at full brightness, though the blinds were closed. That was odd, because Bruce tended to suffer from migraines when he was struggling with his own special cocktail of mental illnesses.

The second thing Tony noticed was Bruce standing in the kitchen, hunched over the countertop like it was supporting most of his weight.

“Bruce?”

Bruce jumped, and as Tony walked closer, he could tell he was shaking.

“Don’t…” Bruce trailed off, his voice sounding both rough and lifeless.

When he was finally close enough to see what Bruce was looking at, what was left of Tony’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Bruce was staring fixedly at his hand, which he was holding over the flame of a pocket lighter. His palm was the violent shade of raw meat, and several white blisters had bloomed near his fingers, where the flame had climbed too high for too long.

“Bruce,” Tony started again, the calmness of his voice maintained with no small amount of effort, “Give me the lighter.”

“No… No, I—” Bruce cut himself off, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face with painful force. “I need this. Grounding, I need to…”

Tony quickly puzzled out Bruce’s fragmented sentences. “I can help. I’m going to touch your arm, okay? Let me anchor you.”

Bruce didn’t respond, though he opened his eyes once more and kept his gaze resolutely on the fire marring his skin. He shuddered when Tony’s fingers gently curled around his bicep. His head twitched, then turned as his eyes flicked towards Tony for the first time since he’d arrived.

Tony felt pinned under that stare. It was vacant in a way that Bruce, brilliant, constantly thinking Bruce, never was. He blinked a few times, and Tony felt something loosen in his chest as recognition seemed to overtake Bruce’s expression.

“Tony,” he breathed. It sounded like a question.

“That’s me.”

“I don’t…” Bruce choked on whatever it was he was trying to say. He shivered again, his hand gripping the lighter so tightly, his knuckles turned white. His finger slipped off of the lighter’s stone. The flame extinguished, but Bruce didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, hey. Everything’s going to be okay,” Tony reassured him. “I mean, relatively.” He chanced a glance at the lighter, still in Bruce’s hand. He slowly began to reach for it. “This’ll pass, I promise. You just have to relax, can you do that for me?”

But Bruce shook his head, swallowing thickly as he closed his eyes. “You’re not here. How…Don’t know if it’s real. Not here, I’m not…she’s still…” Bruce cut himself off with a shuddering breath. “ _Tony_ ,” he whined through clenched teeth.

Tony’s breath caught in his throat. There was only one woman Bruce would refer to with such fear in his voice. He must have believed Dr. Jackson was still manipulating him.

His free hand held Bruce’s, his fingers massaging the stubborn muscles there with soothing, circular motions, trying to coax the lighter from him.  “She’s gone. I promise, she’s gone,” Tony insisted. “Trust me, if she wasn’t already dead, I would have killed her myself by now.”

“I’m…I’m seeing things. She must still…I’m not…” Bruce’s eyes widened, and he looked quickly between their joined hands and Tony’s face. He seemed to be having a moment of clarity. His hand jerked back from Tony’s, causing him to abruptly let go of the lighter. It clattered on the countertop, but Bruce ignored it. “You’re touching me.”

Tony tried to keep the confusion out of his voice. “I am, yeah. Very observant.”

“They haven’t touched me, yet.” Bruce finally moved his abused hand from where it had still been hovering and rubbed at his eyes. “It’s getting worse.”

Tony latched on to the fact that Bruce was hallucinating, guilt washing over him. “Bruce, when’s the last time you slept?”

“I asked JARVIS…But…” He frowned, his brows furrowing in an expression he usually wore when puzzling through a particularly difficult equation or experimental design. Another twinge of worry ran through Tony.

“Doctor Banner has not slept since he was brought home,” the AI answered, unprompted.

“You’re hallucinating from sleep deprivation.”

“That…that makes sense,” Bruce admitted. He didn’t sound convinced.

“You need to sleep. I know I’m not normally an advocate, but you’ll feel better if you do.”

Bruce shook his head.

There was only one other thing Tony could think to try before he ran out of options and had to call for backup. He moved behind Bruce, wrapping his arms around him so that his stomach and chest were pressed firmly against Bruce’s back. All at once, Bruce sagged against him. He let out a deep breath, giving Tony the impression that he’d been struggling to breathe until now.

They stayed like that for what must have been a few minutes. Tony had started to suspect that Bruce had fallen asleep, until he twisted in his arms unexpectedly. Tony started to let go, which caused Bruce to release a startled noise that had his insides twisting. He quickly wrapped his arms around Bruce once more, and Bruce buried his face into the crook of his neck and clutched at his shirt like a lifeline.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”


	2. Don't Go Far Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a beast to write. It REFUSED to end, and I had to rewrite several parts. Regardless, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. This chapter is un-beta'd, as always!
> 
> The poem is Don't Go Far Off, by Pablo Neruda.

Tony debated trying to wrestle Bruce into some pajamas, but that seemed nigh impossible given how tightly the man was holding on to him. In order to lead him to his room, Tony had maneuvered them so he only had an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce had retaliated to the lack of physical contact by grabbing a fistful of Tony’s shirt in one hand, while his other arm wrapped around small of his back in a sort of side-hug. Physical affection was usually a last resort for Bruce, and Tony always had to initiate it, so he figured Bruce had to be pretty far gone to express such an obvious need to be comforted.

As he one-handedly pulled back the covers on Bruce’s bed, he thought he heard Bruce mumbling something into his shoulder. “What was that?”

Bruce hummed. Tony felt him lift his head up off of his shoulder, and turned to see Bruce looking up at him. He was clearly exhausted, his eyes glazed over and lids drooping.

“’Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.’”

 

He had a feeling Bruce was quoting something, because while the man was a genius, he’d never been that eloquent with words (though equations and theories were another story entirely). Only moments ago, Bruce was having trouble remembering how long he’d been awake. Now, he was able to quote what sounded like a very familiar poem. Tony tightened his hold around him. The sooner the other man slept, the better.

Bruce was still looking up at him, eyes silently questioning. Tony sighed. He didn’t know what Bruce was quoting, but he thought he understood what he was trying to say.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you sooner,” he replied, gently maneuvering Bruce into the bed. He kept one hand on his shoulder, worried about how Bruce would react deprived of any physical contact.

Bruce stared at up him, seemingly in a daze. “Don’t go far off, not even for a day,” he mumbled, his eyes closing.

Tony froze. That…that was a love poem. A famous love poem, and Tony actually knew the entirety of that stanza, because Pepper had read it to him towards the end of their relationship. Pepper had shared it with him because it illustrated the fears and feelings evoked every time he went out as Iron Man. Only later, when it was too late to salvage what they’d had, had he understood its importance. He had absolutely zero idea what Bruce could mean by it. There was every possibility that Bruce was so delirious, he thought Tony was somebody else. The image of a brown haired, blue eyed woman flashed through his mind.

“Bruce, do you know who I am?”

Bruce’s gaze flicked towards him for a second, before he closed his eyes again. “Mhm.”

“Who am I?”

“You’re Tony,” Bruce replied, eyes still closed and his exhausted tone making it very clear he thought Tony was a dumbass for asking.

Bruce was lucid enough to recognize him. However, Tony suspected Bruce’s lack of filters also indicated he wasn’t hyper-analyzing everything he said and parsing out all possible connotations the way he usually would. That meant he could easily be quoting the poem because he didn’t want to be alone, not because of its romantic nature. Besides, the idea that he was reflecting on harboring romantic feelings for Tony was laughable.

Strangely, Tony felt even more confused.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

Bruce yawned. “Of course I do.”

Tony took that as confirmation. He felt relief wash over him, and noted that relief felt like an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. Ignoring his own, muddled feelings, he crawled into bed next to Bruce. There was plenty of room between them, since each room in Stark Tower was equipped with at least a queen sized bed, if not bigger. Unbound from his normal aversion to touch, Bruce quickly closed the space between them, and Tony found he was all too ready to wrap his arms around him in a protective embrace.

Now that Bruce had calmed down considerably, Tony wanted to examine his injured hand more closely. It was difficult to see in the dark. Luckily, Tony wasn’t above using the light from the reactor. He maneuvered himself out of Bruce’s grip, thought he was loath to do so, and sat up so he could shuck off his shirt. Bruce searched blindly for him with his hand until it came to rest on his thigh.

Tony sighed. At least the proffered hand was the one he needed to check over. He gently grasped it, thankful when Bruce didn’t protest. The splint they’d given him for his boxer’s fracture was nowhere to be found. Tony noted the swollen skin around the knuckle of his ring finger. He didn’t know if he should be relieved Bruce had the presence of mind to remove it before burning himself, or if he should be worried that he hadn’t been wearing it for who knew how long. It didn’t matter in the long run, of course; as soon as Bruce hulked out, the fracture would heal. Still, overusing his hand and moving his affected fingers would make the pain worse in the interim.

He gently turned Bruce’s hand over. The blistered skin of his palm was going to make the splint uncomfortable. Other than that, the damage wasn’t bad. He’d only given himself first degree burns, and Tony knew it could have been much worse. Regardless, the sight of these self-inflicted wounds, both old and new, turned Tony’s stomach. He carefully lowered Bruce’s hand back down onto the mattress and laid back down. Light from the reactor bathed them in a dim, blue glow, erasing Bruce’s haggard appearance. Tony opened his arms invitingly as Bruce shifted towards him once more.

Bruce yawned, his eyes moving behind their lids. “I don’t want to want to die again,” he muttered sleepily.

His hold tightening, Tony had to shove down his jumbled up feelings with more force than before. _“God,”_ he thought. _“When it rains, it fucking pours.”_ Bruce had been dealing with this by himself for three days. Tony was exhausted, and he’d only been privy to the hurricane that was Bruce’s current state of mind for less than thirty minutes.

He wasn’t sure how fair it was to discuss sensitive topics with Bruce when he didn’t have the presence of mind to filter himself the way he normally would. Still, Tony was unable to keep himself from responding to the morbid statement. He settled for saying, “I’d prefer you didn’t, either.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Bruce whispered. He sounded ashamed.

Tony carded his hand through Bruce’s hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. “Then don’t.”

Somehow, that struck a chord with Bruce. He sighed and buried his head into Tony’s shoulder with a sort of finality. Tony simply continued running his fingers through Bruce’s curls, now humming to the tune of "Cochise" under his breath.

And for the first time in three days, Bruce slept.

***

There was a part of Tony that wanted to stay with Bruce until he woke up, but after waking up from his own, light doze, he was forced to disentangle himself and use the restroom. Fully cognoscente, Tony found himself needing to be alone to process what had happened. He put on his shirt and slipped quietly out of Bruce’s room, silently shutting the door behind him.

“J, alert me as soon as he starts to wake up.”

“Of course, sir.”

That taken care of, Tony made a beeline for the elevator. He needed scotch, and he needed it now. “How long was I asleep?” he asked, slumping against the steel interior of the elevator.

“Approximately five hours, sir. It is currently 8:47 PM.”

Tony rubbed at his eyes. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep through the night, now. Not that he normally could. Fortunately, he still had a suit waiting to be upgraded in order to maximize its energy efficiency. He could do that with his eyes closed, so he knew he could easily accomplish it while drunk out of his mind.

He stopped off on his floor, grabbing two bottles from the bar and completely forgoing a glass--there was no need to fake decorum. By the time he made it to the workshop, he’d already started on the first bottle.

It took Tony a few minutes of blankly staring at the screwdriver in his hand to realize he was furious, and not just at AIM, though he vowed he’d hunt down every one of those bastards and make them hurt for what they’d done. He was also pissed off at Bruce. The bastard had gone and hurt himself on purpose again. How many times was Bruce going to physically self-destruct while he was forced to watch, breathless and feeling every wound like it was his own?

Tony knocked back more whisky in an attempt to shut his brain up. Halfheartedly wiping at his mouth, he set the bottle back down. Time passed in a haze, the screwdriver dangling lazily from his fingers, as Tony let himself feel. Tears eventually threatened to well up in his eyes. He immediately scrubbed them away and began working on the suit.

What was he going to do? Being so close to Bruce had been difficult before, but now… Tony closed his eyes and he could feel Bruce thrashing against the suit, sobbing, while he stood there uselessly.

He dropped the wire he’d been holding, cursing as the frayed end nicked his fingers. Frowning, he stuck his burned finger in his mouth. How many times had Bruce hurt himself? Tried to kill himself? Just how long was his “long history” of suicidal tendencies?

Tony grabbed his scotch and began chugging it in earnest.

“Tony?”

He ignored Steve’s voice, idly wondering why JARVIS let him in. Oh right, he’d forgotten to engage privacy mode. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he ignored Rogers, he’d go away.

Tony’s eyes startled open as the bottle was ripped from his grip and scotch spilled down his shirt. Spluttering, he glared up at Steve. “What do you want, Captain Killjoy?”

Steve ignored the jab. He was looking him over with obvious concern. Frustration coursed through Tony as surely as the alcohol. It would have been preferable if Steve was furious over finding him this way.

“Are you okay?”

“’Am I okay?’” he repeated, incredulous. “I’m excellent. I’m thriving. Are you okay?”

Steve rolled his eyes, and Tony felt a stab of triumph. “How’d it go with Bruce?”

“How the fuck do you think it went?” He pointedly eyed the scotch still in Steve’s grip.

“Tony,” Steve said in warning.

Tony was starting to feel the wrong (or in this case, right) side of buzzed, and he knew he was being unfairly aggressive. Steve was just as worried about Bruce as he was.

“It wasn’t pretty,” he said, finally giving a serious answer. “He was burning himself, and he hadn’t slept since he came home.”

Steve winced and crossed his arms over his chest, guilt overtaking his expression.

The vindictive streak in Tony was delighted that Steve recognized he had been wrong. He reigned it in, choosing to take pity on him. “It wasn’t that bad. He has a few blisters, but that’s it. They’re only first degree burns.” He held out his own, burned finger. “I get them working on the suits. No big deal.”

“But you didn’t burn yourself intentionally.”

Tony shrugged. “No, but I’m intentionally trying to increase my risk for developing cirrhosis of the liver. Speaking of which,” he motioned for the bottle in Steve’s hand.

“You’re trying to tell me it wasn’t that bad while you’re binge drinking,” Steve said dubiously.

“Maybe I wouldn’t need to drink if I knew exactly what it was I’m dealing with,” Tony countered.

“It’s not my place to say, you know that.” Steve sat down next to him, placing the bottle on the bench so that he was between it and Tony. “What if Bruce needs you again, and you’re too drunk to help him?”

Tony frowned. He’d thought of that, briefly, before deciding he could take care of Bruce drunk if he had to. He also knew that in order to help Bruce, he needed to take time to recalibrate. If he couldn’t keep up his façade of calm and Bruce saw how upset he actually was, there would be no coming back from that. He couldn’t fail him.

“You’re not the only one who shouldn’t be around him for a while, turns out.”

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re the best at calming him down,” he insisted with exaggerated patience.

Tony knew he should be able to ignore his own sadness. Emotions weren’t supposed to get in the way of responsibility. Emotions weren’t supposed to compromise him in any way. Emotions were supposed to be controlled, not control him. This had been impressed upon him at a young age, and his inability to do so now was eating him alive.

He didn’t voice any of this to Steve. Instead he settled for, “It’s complicated.”

Steve looked down at the ground, shame clearly eating away at him. “I can’t be there for him, right now. Not the way he needs,” he admitted. “I want to, but I just can’t.” Steve propped his head on his hand, his shoulders hunching forward. He looked absolutely exhausted, and suddenly Tony was reminded that Steve was suffering, too. “I need you to look after him. He trusts you. And I trust you.”

“That’s all well and good, but I either need space or all the variables if I’m going to be any help!” Tony snapped. Steve was asking the impossible of him.

“Tony,” Steve said in that godawful, warning tone that Tony hated so much, “What happened?”

 _“He’s just trying to help, he’s just trying to help, he’s just trying to help,”_ Tony silently repeated to himself. He wasn’t mad at Steve. Logically, he knew that. Taking a deep breath, Tony searched blindly for the other, unopened bottle of scotch he’d brought and set down somewhere under the workbench. He grunted triumphantly, lifting it up.

“Fuck!”

“What?”

Tony noted Steve’s startled expression, then stared again at the corked bottle. “This one’s not a twist-off.”

Steve scraped a hand down his face. “Could you focus for two seconds?”

“Nothing happened,” he insisted, now grabbing a screw and a hammer. Because nothing had happened. He was overreacting and needed two goddamn seconds alone to reign himself in. “He was hurting himself, and he was so sleep deprived, he thought I was a hallucination. He’s scared he’s still at the AIM compound, and he’s questioning what’s real. We took a nap.” Tony paused, using the screwdriver to put the screw into the cork, “That’s it.” He refused to look at Steve, instead pulling the screw, and therefore the cork, out with the back of the hammer and unnecessary force. It came out with a satisfying pop.

Steve hummed, drawing Tony’s eyes towards him. “I can see how he’d be confused about that. What’s real, I mean. It’s a little more obvious to me, because they weren’t my memories I was watching.” His mouth twisted up again. “But then the cell we were in had also been in our heads, and when Bruce…” he trailed off, coming back to himself. “We’d actually been drugged the whole time. So logically, I know she could just be messing with my head now. But not having Bruce around made it more obvious this is real. That’s one of the reasons I needed space from him, initially.”

Despite his efforts, there was no escaping the crushing weight Tony felt. He exhaled hard through his mouth and stared down at the open bottle. No one else could help Bruce through this, it had to be him. “I don’t know if I can help him,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t even know what he needs help with. And all I can think about is what if he tries to hurt himself again?”

“I understand what you’re going through. Trust me.”

Steve’s eyes were achingly sorrowful, and Tony had to admit that his actions made sense, now. He’d been right. Seeing someone so vulnerable without their permission was difficult. Tony could only imagine how Steve felt, questioning reality himself and literally witnessing everything Bruce had gone through and feared. His own emotional turmoil was pathetic in comparison.

“He needs you, though,” Steve insisted. “You two are like soulmates.”

Tony choked on his liquor. He kept coughing, trying to expel the liquid and failing. When Steve gave him a solid pat on the back, it was a miracle he didn’t drop the bottle. “What,” Tony started, coughing one last time, “What do you mean?”

Steve gave him an odd look. “You’re his best friend. You have to know that. It’s not like the world calls you two ‘Science Bros’ for no reason.”

Right. Obviously that’s what Steve was referring to. Tony nodded, scraping a hand down his face.

“Honestly, I thought there was something more between you two than friendship, for a while. Then I realized I was projecting.”

Tony’s mind reeled. “Projecting how?”

“You’ve heard the theories about me and Bucky.” Before Steve looked away, Tony caught a glimmer of bittersweet sorrow in his eyes. “Sometimes we don’t realize things until it’s too late, even if it’s obvious to others. It would’ve been helpful if bisexuality had been recognized and accepted back then, though.”

Tony feigned nonchalance. “Barton owes me a lot of money,” he simply said. In truth, he was shocked. Steve Rogers, Captain America, the man who had simultaneously been his childhood nemesis and hero, was coming out to him.

Steve shot him a barely there smile. “I’ll leave you alone. Just…don’t get so drunk you can’t help him again if he needs it, alright?’

“I’ll keep the drinking to a minimum, sure,” Tony acquiesced.

The doors made a whooshing noise as Steve left, and then Tony was plunged into silence.

“J, play anything but Audioslave.”

He took another long pull from the bottle as Black Sabbath blared through the speakers.

***

Bruce woke up suddenly and all at once, as he always did. He kept his eyes closed, noting the silence of his surroundings, the feel of a blanket over him and a mattress underneath him. His brain was muzzy, and his body was sore, but only his hand was achy. This wasn’t what he normally felt like after a hulk-out.

Opening his eyes, he realized he was in his room at the tower. “JARVIS,” he paused to clear his throat, “What time is it?”

“It is currently 12:14 PM. You slept for approximately 21 hours, Doctor.”

Bruce blanched. How the hell had he slept for that long? He tried to remember the events leading up to him going to bed. The memories felt far away and distorted, but he distinctly recalled Tony showing up at some point. He’d been struggling, hallucinating from sleep deprivation, worried he was still being tortured.

Memories of the false reality Mara had subjected him to, as well as the memories she’d unearthed, crashed over him. One in particular stood out. He swallowed thickly. This had happened when he’d been captured, hadn’t it? He’d woken up in the tower, nothing seemingly wrong, until he’d left his bed and been tormented in earnest.

Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself. He threw off his covers in a decisive movement, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Nothing happened. That was a good sign. He forced himself to walk the length of the bedroom and entered the bathroom.

Bruce sighed, relief washing over him. It was nonsensical, but he’d been genuinely afraid that if he left the bed, he’d be thrust once again into his worst nightmares.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. God, he looked terrible. Despite sleeping so long, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he desperately needed to shave. He looked like…fuck, he looked like his father. Instinctively, his hands curled into fists.

He bit his lip to keep from groaning. Right, boxer’s fracture. Taking a deep breath, he inspected his hand. It was swollen and clearly aggravated. He wondered where he’d put the splint Tony had given him when they’d first arrived back at the tower, before he’d barricaded himself in his room. He sighed. Eventually, he was going to have to conduct an x-ray for a definite diagnosis.

The palm of his hand also hurt, though it was eclipsed by the pain of his supposed fracture. Upon inspection, he noticed there were several blisters on his palm. Bruce suddenly remembered the lighter, as well as Tony walking in and seeing him burning himself.

Bruce rubbed at his eyes with his uninjured hand, guilt and shame overwhelming him. Tony had been devastated the last time he’d hurt himself. Echoes of his friend saying he didn’t want to go through that again played through his mind and made his knees weak. He couldn’t even give Tony that much, after everything he’d had done for him. Not only had Tony seen him burning himself, but now Bruce was remembering how he’d taken care of him. What kind of a friend was he?

_You’re a leech. You use everyone around you, letting them clean up your messes and not caring how you hurt them._

Bruce shook his head, clearing away those thoughts. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. In fact, he loathed that it had. It was bad enough that Steve knew every skeleton in his closet and had seen him at his most broken. He didn’t want to think about what he may have said to Tony, how he’d acted while out of his mind with fatigue and mental anguish.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. If his jumbled memories served him, he’d practically thrown himself at Tony in search of a grounding touch. Had he quoted Neruda at him? That was pathetic. And why Neruda? He hardly ever read his work. In his exhausted state, he must have made some connection between the poet and the man. Maybe he’d thought Tony would recognize it, since Pepper had read one of his poems to him.

Bruce rubbed at his eyes. His head felt heavy, and hunger was gnawing at him like a physical presence. He should just go back to sleep. And never wake up.

Instead, he stepped into the ridiculously large bathtub and laid down. It was an odd quirk he’d picked up in grade school, but being surrounded on all four sides in the one room with a door that locked gave him a sense of calm. He remembered when his suicidal fantasies had been about slitting his wrists and bleeding out in the tub. That still sounded nice.

He could sort of categorize his life based on his preferred method of suicide. That probably wasn’t normal. Was anything about him normal? He should be incredibly depressed, right? That was the normal thing. He always felt apathetic or angry after a botched suicide attempt. Apathy seemed to be winning the fight, this time around.

“Bruce?”

Bruce frowned, squeezing his eyes shut. He needed to get out of the bathtub and pretend everything was normal. Pride was a lost cause, but he owed it to Tony to act sane. He tried, his useless hand twitching, even grasping the side of the tub so he could pull himself up. That was all he could muster.

Fuck, Tony was going to find him in here, acting weird. Did that matter, anymore? Tony had already been subjected to his fucked up state of mind. Believing he could pretend nothing had happened and he wasn’t struggling against an invisible cloud of anguish with the corporeal ability to weigh down his limbs was an insult to Tony’s intelligence.

At least it wasn’t Steve who was looking for him. Bruce doubted he’d ever be able to face him again.

The door creaked open. Before Bruce could register anything else, the smell hit him. His breath caught in his throat. Being in the bath was suddenly a horrible idea, because it reminded him of being young and vulnerable, and that was the smell of whisky he was inhaling.

Bruce thought he was going to vomit.

“You’re in the bathtub,” Tony said dubiously, somewhere above him.

Energy quickly found him. Bruce pulled himself up into a sitting position. He was panting while trying to hold his breath, and it had him feeling choked. But this was Tony, not Brian, and he wasn’t a child. He wasn’t a child. Everything was okay. He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly as he repeated these things to himself in his mind.

“Bruce, breathe.”

The smell was stronger. A hand touched his shoulder.

Bruce cried out, flinching backwards. His head hit something solid and hard. It wasn’t a punch, he knew that, but the pain and the smell and oh God. He opened his eyes and Brian was there standing over him with fists raised and rage oozing out of him like a poison that had infected Bruce as well. His hands wrapped around his throat, and Bruce scrabbled desperately at them.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Cold splashed over his face and he gasped. Air. He needed air. Heaving breaths wracked his body as he took in oxygen. He was in a bathtub. He wasn’t there. He was at the tower, soaking wet because Tony was standing over him with the detachable showerhead. He blinked the freezing water from his eyes, but it continued to drip from his hair and run down his face. It gave him the impression of tears. This only highlighted the fact that despite his burning eyes, he hadn’t cried.

Was it a flashback or was it Mara? No, it couldn’t have been Mara. It hadn’t been as vivid. Details were fuzzy, though he was intimately familiar with the sensation of fingers around his neck, panic overtaking him as he realized he couldn’t breathe.

Bruce wiped at the water on his face. “You can stop.”

The onslaught of water ceased, and Bruce looked up at Tony. He was grabbing a towel, his expression strangely neutral given what had just transpired. Bruce gingerly dried his face and head with the towel Tony had offered him. Without the cold spray, he was beginning to feel the dull ache where he’d hit his head earlier. Excellent. He’d managed to hurt himself in Tony’s presence again. At least this time it wasn’t intentional.

Bruce watched as Tony stared at him. There was something off about the other man. “Are you drunk?”

The mask flickered, before settling back over Tony’s face. “Technically. I didn’t think it was noticeable.”

“You’re acting like a robot, and you smell like a liquor store.” Logically, Bruce knew Tony probably didn’t smell like liquor to anyone else, except maybe Steve. His sense of smell had improved considerably after Hulk’s creation.

Tony frowned. All at once, the calm façade left him. He sat down, using the closed toilet like a chair, his legs spread wide with his arms resting on them. He looked fucking exhausted. “I needed some help processing.”

“You’re drinking because of me? “ Bruce asked. He hadn’t given the “why” too much thought. It made perfect sense, though.

_You cause everyone around you to self-destruct. You’re worthless, pathetic, cancerous--_

“You and my father actually have something in common,” he muttered. He immediately froze. He shouldn’t have said that. He’d meant it self-deprecatingly, but Tony didn’t know that.

Tony looked like he’d slapped him. “Fuck you,” he spat. “I don’t care how far inside your own head you’ve crawled, you have no right to compare me to him.”

Bruce swallowed hard. Tony wouldn’t hurt him, he knew that. No matter how drunk he became, he wouldn’t hurt him.

_He should. You deserve it. How could you be so insensitive? Tony’s been dealing with your bullshit, holding your hand through all of it, and you say that to him without thinking?_

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean—You’re not,” Bruce paused, gasping in a hitching breath. The words weren’t coming out. He needed to tell Tony. He needed to explain! “I’m sorry,” he said uselessly. He curled his hands into his hair and bit back a yelp. He’d completely forgotten about the bruise.

Tony was looking at him strangely again, but that was fine. That was better than with eyes full of anger and hurt.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Bruce managed to grind out. He was tapping on the edge of the bathtub in time with his words. “I meant you’re not the first person I’ve driven to drink.” He stopped tapping, whatever mental hurdle he’d encountered now gone, though his mind still flickered like a strobe light. “If anyone is comparable to Brian, it’s me.”

“Stop it. Trust me, I know all about inheriting a father’s vices and faults,” Tony insisted in a bitter tone. “But that doesn’t make us the same as them. When it comes down to it, we choose to be better, and that’s what matters.”

Bruce shook his head. That was all well and good for Tony, but Bruce’s actions spoke for themselves. He let himself slump against the back of the bathtub, his eyes on the ceiling. “I didn’t, though,” he admitted.

“Didn’t what?”

Bruce’s mouth twisted up, like it was willing Bruce to stay silent, to not taint the idea of him Tony had in his head.

“Bruce?” Tony coaxed.

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t! There had been too much pain in the last few days. Could he really rip open his heart and hand Tony the darkness inside for him to examine at his leisure?

_He deserves to know. You’re living under his roof, you spend more time with him than anyone. He deserves to know the danger you present._

“I killed him.” His voice sounded choked, but not like his own. It was detached, coming from somewhere else, someone else. “He killed his wife, I killed my father. We’re the same.”

He didn’t even feel anything when he admitted it. The cold, white ceiling he was staring at was both a blank canvas and a mirror. He thought he saw it undulate, threatening to swallow him whole.

“That’s who you killed?” Tony’s voice, incredulous and relieved, cut through the silence. “That doesn’t count.”

Anger threatened to break through the haze of apathy Bruce had fallen into. Who did Tony think he was, deciding whose life was expendable and whose wasn’t? But the numbness inside him won out, and his anger dissipated. Something stuck out to him, though. “What do you mean ‘that’s who I killed’?” he asked, forcing himself to sit up straight and look Tony in the eye.

“I was looking through AIM’s files and stumbled across some of Dr. Jackson’s notes.” Tony admitted. Bruce could tell he felt some sort of way about it, though he tried to hide it.

There was something important about "AIM," but Bruce was too distracted to recall what it was. His heart hammered dangerously in his chest, panic threatening to break through to him. “You shouldn’t have looked at that.”

“I was trying to understand what happened so I could help you,” Tony defended. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look away from Bruce’s own stare. “It didn’t detail anything, but it mentioned you killed someone.”

“I didn’t even remember it,” Bruce admitted. Now that he’d started, it seemed he couldn’t stop. His gaze drifted back to the ceiling, unable to look Tony in the eye. “I didn’t mean to, not that that matters.” His voice was lifeless, almost bored. It was the same tone he used when reading off a shopping list or commenting on the weather.

_What the fuck is wrong with you?_

“I was visiting Mom’s grave, and he was there. Must have been released from the mental institution, and I didn’t even know it. He tried to hit me, but it was after the accident, and I…I hit him back. He must have slipped and hit his head on her tombstone. I don’t know. My eyes were closed.” He wrung his hands, trying to wash away the blood that clung to them. “I tried to kill Mara, too. I might as well have.”

Thick, overwhelming silence hung over them, until Bruce couldn’t take it.

“Can you,” he paused, swallowing hard. The apathy was leaving him, and grief was encroaching in its absence. “Can you help me out of the bathtub?” Bruce couldn’t believe he’d put himself in a position where this was something he had to ask. He had yet to look at Tony, too afraid of what he’d find in the other man’s expression after his admission.

“Of course.”

Bruce nearly cried with relief over Tony’s dangerously sincere tone. He gratefully accepted Tony’s outstretched hand, grunting as he let the other man haul him to his feet. Black spots immediately overtook his vision. With a sharp breath, he sagged forwards and into Tony’s steadying embrace.

“Hey, you okay?”

Bruce let his head rest on Tony’s shoulder for a moment longer. The whisky smell still clung to him, but he found he could ignore it more easily now that he wasn’t on his back. Besides, his father never would have held him like this.

“’M fine. Haven’t eaten in a while.”

Tony helped him step out of the tub and led him back into his bedroom, keeping his arm around his shoulders the whole way. He sat Bruce down on his bed. Without preamble, Tony disappeared into the closet and came out moments later with a cotton T-shirt and loose sweats.

“I’ll be right outside,” Tony informed him.

Every movement, every word, was so carefully gentle and inviting that Bruce thought he felt the prickling of tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

He changed quickly once Tony left. His thoughts were hazy, and he found himself feeling utterly exhausted. There was only so much emotional turmoil he could pour out before he was spent. That didn’t completely account for his fatigue, though. He was hungry, and though he remembered heating up chicken broth at some point in the last few days, he knew he hadn’t eaten nearly as much as he should have. Especially after a hulk-out, and given he own, increased metabolism. It wasn’t as fast as Steve’s, but it was still faster than a normal human’s.

Bruce sighed. The aching behind his eyes and feeling of some too tight barrier pushing down on his brain would feel incrementally better after he’d eaten. The hollow hunger pangs would subside, too. He forced himself to get up, carefully this time to minimize the black spots, and padded out to the kitchen.

To his surprise, Tony was already there. He noted that something was being heated in the microwave behind him.

Tony turned around when Bruce pulled out a barstool and sat down at the kitchen counter. “Not that I’m complaining,” Tony began, his tone sounding more casual than it had earlier, “But how come Big Green didn’t show up back there?”

Bruce slumped forward onto the counter and let his eyes slip closed. He needed to stand back up and fix something to eat, but walking out into the kitchen had zapped all of his energy. “He doesn’t want to,” he mumbled. “Something you said about me needing to be out.”

“He’s still listening to that?” Tony sounded genuinely surprised. “Should I tell him he can come out?”

“Actually, yeah. I want to try letting him out more around the tower.” Guilt ate at him. He’d caged up the little boy in his head for too long. “If that’s alright with you and the team,” Bruce continued. He forced himself to open his eyes and assess Tony’s reaction.

Tony was grinning. “That’s more than fine, as long as you aren’t hiding behind him. I’ve been telling you for months he needs to spend time with the team when he’s not smashing. And it’ll heal your hand. Speaking of which,” Tony disappeared into the bathroom for a moment. When he returned he was holding Bruce’s splint.

Bruce sat up and slipped it on, wincing as he pulled it over his blistered palm. “Ah. Thanks.”

Tony suddenly stepped closer and gently placed both hands on either side of Bruce’s head.

Bruce pulled back. The whisky smell was nearly gone, covered up by the cool scent of spearmint. “Did you…” Bruce frowned in confusion. “Did you eat a mint?”

“I did, yeah.” Oddly enough, Tony looked sheepish. “I could tell the alcohol smell was bothering you. I didn’t’ think it was noticeable until you said something,” he said in way of apology.

“It’s not. My sense of smell was heightened after the accident.” Bruce’s eyes slipped closed of their own volition. He opened them and shook himself a little, trying to stay awake. “Alcohol normally isn’t a problem, everything’s just kind of fresh in my mind.”

Tony didn’t ask what “everything” meant, and Bruce wasn’t sure if that was out of kindness or because Tony couldn’t handle taking on even more of Bruce’s emotional baggage. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about that,” he said instead.

That threw Bruce for a loop. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Tony gave him one of those unreadable looks. Beeping broke the silence between them, and Tony moved to take out whatever had been in the microwave. “The heightened sense of smell… that isn’t in your file,” Tony said curiously.

“Not sure why it would be. SHIELD doesn’t know the accident affected me outside of Hulk.”

Tony returned with a steaming bowl of what smelled like chicken soup. Setting it next to Bruce, he once again framed the other man’s face with his free hands. “We should definitely talk more about this, but first thing’s first.” He leaned closer, staring intently into Bruce’s eyes. “Hulk, you can come out now.” He let his fingers scratch against Bruce’s scalp, careful to avoid his bruise, before letting his hands drop to his sides.

Hulk pressed gently against Bruce’s mind, telling him to let Tony know it was about time. Bruce was distracted, though. The feeling of Tony’s fingers carding through his hair was strangely familiar.

Tony grinned. “Your eyes turned green. Guess he heard me.”

“Hulk says thanks,” Bruce lied through a yawn. He let his head rest on the counter. The granite was cool on his cheek, and he could feel sleep pulling at him again. As much as he appreciated Tony caring enough to check on him, he hoped he left soon. He needed to be alone. He was keeping himself together the best he could, and clearly failing. As soon as Tony left, he knew he’d plunge back down into the dark recesses of his mind. And if Tony didn’t leave, he wasn’t sure what would happen. Most likely he’d break down in front of him. Again.

Tony tapped his arm, forcing Bruce to open his eyes. He scooted the bowl of soup closer. “Eat up.”

“Is there—”

“It’s just broth. I found it in the fridge.”

“Thanks.” Bruce couldn’t pretend to understand Tony’s kindness. His continued presence and friendship given the events of the last few days was nonsensical.

_He’ll leave. They all do. And he’ll be all the better for it._

At least once the team left him, Tony would be safe. They all would. Bruce only regretted that he wasn’t strong enough to leave on his own to spare them from any further danger or burden.

He ate listlessly. His stomach was rebelling, but also begging to be fed, and the result was that Bruce had to put a lot of energy into not eating too fast and keeping what he’d already eaten down. He watched Tony, partially to distract himself, partially because he was confusing him. At some point, he’d grabbed the tablet that’d been tossed haphazardly onto the counter and was reading something.

Bruce hated that he’d been made vulnerable in front of two of his teammates. But, he found that the squirming in his gut didn’t extend to Tony very much. He’d supported him through several anxiety attacks and depressive episodes, and never had Tony made him feel like opening up to him had been a mistake.

He ate as much as he could, which was barely half the bowl. Tony looked over at him, and seeing that he was done, took his dish and put it in the sink. He then surprised Bruce by sitting back down and continuing to read.

Bruce placed his head on the counter once more. He’d put himself back together countless times. Even after suicide attempts. There was no arguing that he deserved to be alive, because he didn’t, but he couldn’t end it without ending Hulk. Which meant he needed to come to grips with living. There was no other choice.

He took in a hitching, wet breath. He might be a monster, he might be poison, he might be everything his father had told him he was, and his mother may have died for nothing. He was a murderer, an abuser, and a monster. But he’d put himself back together before and done a lot of good. And he’d accomplished that alone.

A gentle hand rested on the back of his neck, rubbing soothing circles onto his skin. He opened his eyes to see Tony standing above him, and was suddenly struck with the realization that he wasn’t going to be alone again anytime soon. That didn’t sound like the life, like the reality, he’d come to know. Bruce closed his eyes again. Maybe it didn’t matter that this might not be real. Maybe this was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	3. The Demons We Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, this chapter is finally done. I don't know why this was so freaking difficult to write. Sorry it took so long, I'm trying to make a deadline to apply for grad school so things are a little hectic. This is un-beta'd, as always, and edited less than normal, so I'm really hoping it reads alright.

Twenty-four hours. Tony had been with Bruce for twenty-four hours, and he was already convinced he couldn’t do this alone. Tension was mounting in the small space, and he was certain it would culminate in Bruce having another breakdown. What upset him most was the fact that he was acutely aware of this, despite nothing significant happening, and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

Tony was leaving Bruce alone for the most part because that seemed to be what Bruce desired. After finishing his soup, he’d slept some more, and was clearly surprised Tony was still there when he awoke. Tony had taken a nap on the couch himself while Bruce had been sleeping in his room. There was no way he was leaving Bruce alone again for any period of time. Not unless Bruce demanded it, and even then, he was going to have ask Jarvis to give him constant updates on his friend’s wellbeing.

When Bruce woke up for the second time, he’d walked out into the living room and stared at Tony. Tony pretended not to notice, drinking coffee and pouring over the rest of AIM’s files. He’d been so distracted with trying to find information that could help him help Bruce, he hadn’t looked very in depth at the information regarding Steve’s blood.

Eventually, Bruce laid down on the couch without saying a word, and faded in and out of consciousness while the TV droned on in the background. Tony wasn’t sure how many hours had passed, but Bruce had yet to move from that spot. He occasionally cajoled Bruce into eating more broth, and he even convinced him to eat some scrambled eggs at one point. Despite Bruce’s despondency, he responded warmly during these interactions, but was clearly intent on crawling back inside his own head and hiding out there.

All of this left Tony feeling useless and stifled. Twenty-four hours of holding his breath, and he was struggling. He was uncertain, he was under-stimulated, he was sleep-deprived, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was going to fix this. The words on his StarkPad began to blur together, making the AIM files regarding Steve’s blood unintelligible. Tony rubbed at his eyes. He really was the shittiest friend on the planet. He should be able to do this. It was for Bruce, dammit.

Moving from the kitchen stool, he looked at what Bruce was currently watching for the first time in what felt like hours. “Do you really think you should be watching _Shutter Island_?” he asked, careful to keep his tone soft. He could just barely hear the dialogue from the movie, but he caught DiCaprio’s character asking, _“Which would be worse: to live as a monster, or to die as a good man?”_

Bruce didn’t acknowledge him. He was breathing quickly, and when Tony knelt down in front of him, he noticed the green of his irises and the way his whole body shook.

Tony swallowed hard. “Bruce,” he called gently, careful to avoid touching him. “Bruce, Hulk, you’re having a flashback. It’s not real.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed together, though he continued to look straight ahead.

Tony continued to talk soothingly to him, insisting he was at the tower and describing some of the things around them. He knew about PTSD from first-hand experience, but he hadn’t witnessed a flashback from the outside until Bruce had one in the rubble of the AIM base. Bruce’s last flashback in the bathtub made him realize exposure wasn’t going to make the experience any less frightening.

Eventually, Bruce’s green stare moved to meet Tony’s eyes. He still refused to say anything, but a shaky hand did reach out toward Tony, clutching the fabric of his shirt and pulling him with enough strength that Tony was suddenly nervous about how close he was to changing. He stopped pulling when Tony was flush against the front of the couch. He didn’t release his hold on Tony’s shirt.

“You’re okay, Big Guy. I’ve got you,” Tony said gently. He slowly, so as to telegraph his movements, made to rest his hand on Bruce’s head. He stopped short of touching him, asking, “This okay?”

Still breathing too quickly, Bruce nodded.

Tony carded his hand through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

Bruce took a full, normal breath, though his eyes remained green. When he finally spoke, his voice was too low.

“Metal Man,” Hulk grumbled through Bruce’s mouth.

Tony stared in awe before catching himself. “Right, yep. That’s me. I’m here, Big Guy.”

“Metal Man. Tony. Safe. Hulk killed the girl,” Hulk rolled his eyes, scrunching Bruce’s face into an exasperated sneer. “Banner still scared.”

Hulk’s expressions on Bruce’s face, his rumbling base voice that wasn’t quiet as low as usual coming from Bruce’s throat, was striking. They were so obviously the same person, and curled up on the couch in Bruce’s form, it was painfully clear that while Hulk was Bruce’s defense mechanism, he was also his greatest vulnerability. Bruce had been right, he was exposed, a frayed nerve that gave away too much and could be sliced and pulled and pinched if anyone chose to abuse him.

Right now, Hulk was telling him that deep down, Bruce was ashamed for being scared.

“It’s normal for him to still be afraid,” Tony said, defending Bruce to Bruce himself.

“Puny Banner always scared. Doesn’t let anyone see,” Hulk paused, frowning. “Let Cousin Jen see,” he amended. “Let Betty see. Now let Tony see. No one else supposed to. Cap saw, promised not to hurt.”

Tony nodded, breathless for some reason. “Right. Yeah, Steve won’t hurt you. He’s your friend.”

“Cap friend,” Hulk affirmed. “Friends not supposed to see.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Then what am I?”

Hulk grinned, splitting Bruce’s face in feral glee. “Tony’s special.”

Tony swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. What was that, about Hulk giving away too much? “Oh yeah? Well we all knew that.” he lamely replied.

“Mhm.” Hulk nodded.

“Are you going to come out for a while? We could go to the training room, if you want.”

Hulk frowned, brows furrowing. He tilted his head, before pushing himself up into a sitting position and causing Tony’s hand to fall almost limply onto his friend’s lap. “Hulk come out. Tony calm Banner down, first.”

Before Tony could respond, the green bled from Bruce’s eyes, leaving brown in their wake.

***

Bruce blinked a few times, feeling incredibly exhausted. He’d started to feel more rested after that last nap, but now it was like he hadn’t slept at all. He blinked again, registering Tony kneeling in front of him, one of his hands resting on his thigh.

Tony retracted his hand, and Bruce found himself fighting the impulse to reach out for its retreating comfort. He closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What—” Bruce cut himself off, eyes opening as he moved his hand to rub at his throat. His voice was gravelly, and pitched a little lower than normal.

Tony shuddered in what could only have been sympathy. He knew what was going on, then.

“You have got to help me help you,” Tony said, breaking the silence. “That means not watching movies that will definitely trigger you.”

The scene flooded through his brain. “Didn’t mean to,” he rasped. He was guilty of deliberately triggering himself in the past, but this time it was truly an accident. “It looked familiar, so I stopped for a second, and he said… and then I remembered,” his breathing picked up. He could feel the gun in his hand, and his hands were around her throat, and she looked like _Mom_. Mind racing, he grabbed Tony’s arm without thinking. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” Bruce cut himself off with a gasp. He wasn’t sure what it was he couldn’t do.

“You’re not there anymore,” Tony insisted. “Look at me. You’re not a monster. You’re at the Tower. You’re safe.”

He gripped Tony’s arm even tighter, nodding desperately. He swallowed another lungful of air, expelling it harshly through his nose. He needed to calm down. Calm down, otherwise Hulk…

“Wait, did I…Tony, did Hulk…”

Tony looked oddly uncomfortable. He refused to break their eye contact, though. “No. Uh, sort of. You didn’t hulk-out, but he still showed up.”

Bruce’s mind reeled. Thick fog had taken over his brain, but he struggled against it to puzzle out what Tony could possibly mean.

“He spoke through your mouth,” Tony continued.

Bruce stared. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. His body was supposed to be his. His body was supposed to be his! Hulk had his own. Why would Hulk hijack his body? Could he do it whenever he wanted? Was it because he’d had a flashback?

“Bruce, breathe.”

Bruce did just that and closed his eyes. He needed to focus on staying in the present. He focused on warmth. Tony had moved, and he felt the warmth of his friend’s arm around his shoulders, of his thigh pressing against his own, and of the hand nestled in his hair as his head was guided to rest on Tony’s solid shoulder.

He breathed in again.

Tony smelled like spearmint still, and motor oil. He always smelled of motor oil and something else that was impossible to describe, but was distinctly Tony. Having an enhanced sense of smell meant he could identify people based on their scent, though scents didn’t really have a smell he could describe. It was more like a sensation. And Tony’s scent had an oddly calming effect on him. He smelled safe. He smelled like home.

In the depths of his own mind, Hulk informed him that Tony was special. And Bruce could hear him more clearly than ever before.

 _“Please don’t steal my body again_ ,” he asked in their shared mind.

Hulk snorted. _“Don’t lie to Tony. Hulk not say thank you. Hulk not need to use Banner’s mouth if Hulk out more, tell Metal Man Hulk’s self so Banner can’t lie.”_

“This is, this is because I didn’t tell Tony _‘about time?’_ ” Bruce said out loud, incredulity somehow outweighing his anger. He felt Tony tense up beneath him, but his friend remained blessedly silent.

_“No, Banner stupid. Not say things Banner needs to say. Hulk say for you.”_

Bruce pressed his face into Tony’s shoulder. His breathing was coming easier, now. Talking to Hulk was giving him something to focus on, despite his actions worsening Bruce’s current anxiety attack. If he was honest with himself, it was Tony, his hand combing through his hair and solid presence grounding him, that was truly calming him down.

Hulk gave him a self-satisfied grunt. _“Tony special,”_ he repeated. “ _Hulk come out now Banner is calm. Metal Man say okay.”_

Bruce craned his neck so he could look at Tony without moving his head from its spot on his shoulder. His friend hadn’t said a word throughout the silent exchange. Concern and confusion showed plainly on his face, though his eyes were sparkling with barely restrained curiosity.

Bruce swallowed hard. “You said he could come out?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but he was too thrown and tired to control his tone.

“He was sort of already out,” Tony defended. “I just told him if he wanted to transform, we’d head down to the training room. Besides, I thought you wanted to let him out more?”

He did. Just not like this. He didn’t have the energy to explain it to Tony. Despite calming down, he was still shaky and reeling. Besides, he didn’t need to dump even more onto Tony in the form of his mounting fear that Hulk was going to take control of everything in his life. And even if Hulk did, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Hadn’t he wanted to disappear completely and let Hulk be out forever, anyway? Why was he so fearful of receiving exactly what he wanted?

_Because it’s not on your terms. You’re a fucking control freak. You masquerade as a martyr, but only as long as you’re recognized for your sacrifice. You don’t care about the little boy in your head at all._

“I do, it’s fine,” he answered. Standing up caused Tony’s arm to slip from his shoulders, and he was acutely aware of every point of contact as the physical affection was retracted.

He kept his eyes on the floor. Tony was somehow still here after everything, and that was perhaps the most confusing part of this situation. He was painfully aware he’d broken down in front of Tony again.

_Pathetic._

“We should let him out,” he insisted.

“Are you sure?”

Bruce blinked. He looked up at Tony, really looked at him, for a moment. He seemed worried, head tilted slightly and resting in one of his hands while the other tapped out a rhythm on his thigh. Honestly, Bruce didn’t know what to make of it. He thought Tony would jump at the chance to let Hulk out, and said as much.

“Yeah, but are you…” Tony paused and straightened up. “Are you okay?”

Bruce absentmindedly rubbed at his eyes, chasing away the last of the burning sensation caused by unshed tears. He wasn’t okay.

_You’ve never been okay. You never will be._

He wasn’t okay, but that…that was okay. That was normal, wasn’t it? Something deep inside him whispered that this was normal.

He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

Tony was quickly in his space, hands on his shoulders and stare stripping him down, removing each mask he wore, one by one.

“I’m fine,” Bruce repeated softly. It startled him how true that was. How at peace he was with this current pain. “Thank you. For calming me down.”

Tony smiled, though it looked strained. He didn’t remove his hands. “Anytime, Big Guy.”

“So, should we…?” Bruce pointed awkwardly towards the elevator.

Tony’s smile turned into a grin, his reckless curiosity spreading from sparkling eyes to overtake his face. “I’ll get the suit. Hey, what was that about telling me ‘ _about time’_?”

Bruce just sighed and followed him into the elevator, leaving his floor for the first time since he’d come home.

***

Steve wrestled on his undershirt, walking down the hallway with quick strides. Energy thrummed beneath his fingertips. The sooner he made it to the car, the better.

Talking to Bruce would only make things worse for both of them, at this point, yet he’d itched to do something the moment he’d set foot inside the tower. After arriving home, he’d simply stood there while the others dispersed to their respective floors for much needed sleep, willing his mind to settle. A feather light touch on his shoulder had pulled him out of his stupor. Natasha had stayed with him. She was always there for him, and she understood his current frustration.

That was how he found himself going on covert missions with her every night to take down AIM’s remaining bases. She’d spoken with Fury, and he seemed to agree that this was the best course of action to deal with the threat. SHIELD sent them intel every night, and provided transportations and agents to help them carry out each mission.

The only catch was that he couldn’t tell Tony or Bruce about AIM’s continued existence. Fury was worried about what Bruce would do if he found out their captors were still out there. Clint knew, of course, though he was preoccupied with his own missions. Steve wasn’t actively keeping it a secret from Thor, but he hadn’t been in the tower enough for the opportunity for Steve to lie to present itself.

Secrecy didn’t settle well with him, but he didn’t want to upset Bruce even more while he was still in a fragile state of mind. He had a feeling Fury’s primary concern wasn’t Bruce’s mental health, but rather avoiding an unwanted, Hulk-related incident.

Hiding it from Tony made sense to Steve, too. If he found out, he’d almost certainly tell Bruce, for better or for worse. Those two didn’t keep secrets from one another. Nostalgia and heartache bloomed in his chest as he thought about the bond the two scientists shared. He sighed, shaking his head and refocusing. A quick glance at his watch informed him that he was supposed to meet Natasha outside in five minutes.

Silence settled over him. Oddly enough, it was this silence that made him realize it hadn’t been silent a moment before. He looked up from his watch and stopped in his tracks.

“Bruce,” Tony said in that soft, gentle voice that always surprised Steve. “Breathe.”

Wide, green eyes tracked his every movement. Steve tried to stay absolutely still. He knew he wasn’t hiding his surprise well, but he worried if he let his other emotions show on his face, Bruce would mistake his concern for something else. Worse yet, if he tried to appear neutral, Bruce would likely take that as apathy or see through it and wonder what emotions he was hiding.

Bruce looked terrible. Every tense inch of him screamed of exhaustion, except for his eyes. His eyes just looked like they were screaming. Steve noticed they were a glowing green. They continued to stare at each other, neither one daring to move.

Tony broke the motionlessness, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. He began to steer them past Steve. “Bruce and I were just—”

“Cap promised not to hurt.”

Tony immediately stopped walking.

Steve’s brows shot up to his hairline. Bruce’s voice was pitched low, and that speech pattern was clearly Hulk’s, but Bruce still looked like Bruce.

Bruce or Hulk or both of them continued to stare. They were waiting for a reply, he realized. He bit his lip and gave a sharp nod.

“Uh, yeah. This is a recent development,” Tony said, drawing Steve’s eyes towards him for a moment. He had one hand on his hip, the other in his hair, and was more openly distressed than Steve had anticipated.

Bruce huffed, gaze finally leaving Steve. “Training room. Tony promised,” he reminded, and took a few steps towards Tony.

“That I did. Right this way, Big Guy.”

Steve watched the two men walk down the hallway until they took a turn and were out of sight. Was Bruce…could Bruce possibly be even worse off than Steve had anticipated?

That need to do something, to fix this, flowed through him once again. He realized he was already sprinting towards the stairs. Running down them would be faster than taking the elevator.

He didn’t relax until he’d shut the car door and sunk into the sleek leather. He struggled to regain his breath, and while he knew running down countless flights of stairs would leave anyone breathless, he also knew that excuse fell flat in this case.

“What’s wrong?”

It sounded more like a demand than a question. Steve had spent enough time with Natasha to detect the genuine concern in her voice, though. Silence had descended between them for an indeterminate amount of time before she finally spoke. He was sure she’d waited a long time. It didn’t feel like long enough.

“Ran into Bruce,” he answered. His voice sounded tight. Clearing his throat, he watched Natasha watch the road. She was already dressed in tactical gear, her hair pulled back off of her face and up in a high ponytail. There was a bag containing his gear in the back, he knew, though he hadn’t checked. Her expression remained neutral. Steve knew that didn’t mean anything.

Silence settled between them again, and Steve let himself hope she’d decided to let the subject drop. He knew that hope was misplaced as soon as they stopped at a light and she turned to look at him properly.  

“How is he?” she asked, her tone now carefully gentle.

“I…” Steve wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to tell Natasha about the Hulk speaking through Bruce, or that he’d been hurting himself. Those weren’t his demons to share. Eventually, he huffed out a tired laugh. “Not great.”

Natasha frowned, her eyes on the road as traffic inched forward. “He’ll get through it.”

The way she said it left no room for argument. Her belief in Bruce was admirable, if not surprising. Hiding her affection seemed to be a reflex, though, and Steve knew she cared about everyone on the team more than she let on.

“You seem so certain.”

She leveled him with a sharp look. “And you’re not? We’ve all been through hell and made it out in once piece.” She looked away, but he caught her grip tightening on the steering wheel. “He’s done it before, he’ll do it again.”

“I know what you’re saying, but this was torture, Nat,” Steve insisted. His voice was quiet, though he wasn’t sure why. “It was psychological warfare.”

He hated that he doubted Bruce’s ability to heal. Humanity’s grit and resilience were the attributes Steve held as universal truths. He knew it was possible for Bruce to reach a point of stability in time, but when comparing where he was mentally only a week ago with where he was now, and with the memories, Bruce’s memories, flashing relentlessly behind his eyes, it was difficult for even him to maintain hope.

Natasha refused to look at him again, pretending to be occupied with parking the car. “You’ve read his file. He’s been dealing with this kind of torture since he was a child,” she insisted, as if she was certain that made him more resistant.

Steve wondered if she was refusing to consider that it might make him more reactive. Before he could ask, she turned off the car and exited without warning.

He scrambled after her. “You think I don’t know that?” He sounded on the verge of hysteria, even to his own ears. “I watched it.” The events of only four days ago pounded fitfully against his consciousness. He suddenly couldn’t continue, not with words nor physically. SHIELD vans and cargo trucks milled around him, but he didn’t care. He was just so, so tired, and so wracked with guilt.

Natasha stared at him, her eyes open and inviting. He knew she was doing that intentionally. All of her body language was an elaborate performance, carefully controlled so as to convey and convince.

He kept his eyes on the asphalt underneath him. “I saw everything. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

The crunch and thud of her combat boots alerted him to her close proximity. He would have been able to sense her, regardless of the noise. Her hand tilted his face up, forcing him to make eye contact. Such a delicate touch felt out of place when juxtaposed by the fire in her eyes.

“You’re doing something about it now.”

She was right. But in doing so, he was keeping secrets from his teammates, betraying the trust he’d worked so hard to cultivate between them. Part of him wondered if going after AIM now simply a way to assuage his own guilt. He could have waited until Bruce had healed enough for all of them to go after AIM together, or at least waited long enough for Bruce to be in a state of mind to handle the truth, even if he chose to stay behind.

This must have shown on his face, because Natasha dropped her hand and sighed. “I know you want to tell them. But if they knew, Stark would do something he’d regret. I honestly don’t know if Bruce would explode externally or internally, but either way it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Steve swallowed hard, but nodded nonetheless. That was why he’d agreed to secrecy in the first place.

“You on the other hand,” Natasha continued, “Are rational enough in this situation to bring them down safely and effectively. And we both know not doing anything would eat you alive.”

That was true, too. The last four days had been rife with various versions of this same conversation. Once the facts were laid out for him, he always came to the same conclusion.

“Okay,” he said, and it felt more like a sigh of relief.

***

Bruce was aching. He was aching and naked and starving.

“Hey, Big Guy.”

Tony. Of course it was Tony, he never left him alone, anymore. Not that Bruce wanted to be alone. His own selfish desire to be comforted was clouding his judgment on that front.

Bruce scraped a hand down his face with stilted, shaky movements, his eyes remaining stubbornly closed. He racked his brain for the events that had led him to this moment. He remembered heading towards the training room, but couldn’t recall actually arriving. There was a reason for that. It was important.

 _“Cap,”_ Hulk helpfully supplied.

Bruce froze. They’d ran into Steve. And he’d freaked out.

He forced his eyes open and gratefully accepted Tony’s outstretched hand. With a grunt, he let himself be pulled into a sitting position.

“Your digestive system is back up and running, right? Want to celebrate with some takeout?”

It was so like Tony to ignore what had happened. Normally, Bruce loved this about him. No, love was not the right word. He didn’t love things about Tony. He liked things about him, but love was too strong.

_“Tony special.”_

Bruce ignored Hulk. He could only deal with one potential crisis at a time.

“What happened with Steve?”

Tony sat down next to him.  “Nothing, really.”

Bruce frowned. Tony was a master at lying to the press, but he couldn’t lie to him. Bruce noticed the way his demeanor actually became more relaxed, while his smile ceased to reach his eyes. Something had happened. Something important.

 _“Needed to talk to him,”_ Hulk insisted. _“Remind him of promise.”_

Bruce’s hands shook as he hid his face behind them. He was losing control. He was losing control of everything, his anxiety, his bodily autonomy, his very grip on reality.

Strong arms wrapped around him, and Bruce buried his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. Inhaling Tony’s scent immediately calmed him down. This somehow caused his panic to increase twofold. He shouldn’t let Tony console him. He was losing control of his emotions, and letting Tony closer would only lead to disaster.

Betty’s bloody, lifeless corpse stared at him from the floor. His eyes flashed open and he jerked away from Tony’s hold.

“It’s okay,” Tony assured him over Bruce’s own, ragged breathing.

It wasn’t, though. It wasn’t.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move from his spot on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, shivering in the cold. Tony left at some point. When he came back, he dropped clothes next to him on the floor. It took another stretch of time before Tony left the room again.

Minutes ticked by, and it became apparent Tony wasn’t coming back. It was only then that Bruce granted himself the luxury of letting out a single, choked sob.

***

It took longer than it should have for Bruce to leave the training room. Tony forced himself to stay still, though he couldn’t force his brain to do the same. Bruce was obviously shaken up over the fact that Hulk had come out in his body, again. Not that he could blame him. He had retreated into himself, though, and now Tony was left wondering how much of his relative calm had been an act during the last twenty-four hours.

How much pain was is friend really in?

Bruce’s emergence from the training room interrupted his thoughts. He was shaking harshly enough that Tony was surprised he could stand up, let alone walk. Despite the way he was hanging his head, Tony was certain he saw red rimmed eyes under his friend’s dark curls.

“Hey,” Tony greeted, but Bruce continued past him without pause. “Hey, Big Guy, wait up.” Frowning, he followed him into the shared kitchen space, watching as Bruce sat down at the counter and put his head in his hands.

Tony sighed. He hadn’t expected Bruce to heal over night, but he’d been acting more well-adjusted than he could have hoped for during the last twenty-four hours, even when considering his earlier anxiety attack. This had led Tony to hope that a good portion of Bruce’s distress had been exacerbated by lack of sleep. Now, it seemed that wasn’t the case. And why should it have been? Bruce had undergone trauma after relentless trauma. Tony didn’t know all of the details, and he didn’t want to, but he knew that it had been disturbing enough to cause Bruce to try to kill himself again.

Tony swallowed hard, tears threatening to spring into his own eyes. He pushed his feelings away. As much as he was hurting for Bruce, he needed to focus on the man in question. He could process everything later.

“J, order some shawarma, post-Hulk size.”

“Right away, sir.”

Bruce snorted. He looked up from behind his hands and graced Tony with a watery smile.

Something loosened in Tony’s chest. He returned the smile, before turning his attention to the fridge. “Let’s see what we’ve got in the meantime.”

There wasn’t much in the shared fridge, at the moment. Usually, it was stocked with left-overs. The events of the last week had left the fractured team frantic, and cooking had been the last thing on their minds. It looked like there was some fresh fruit, though. Tony found half a pomegranate in serran wrap and grabbed it. Fruit was good for Bruce, after a hulk-out. Protein was best, but any food at all was good for him, really, and fruit helped him reestablish a stable blood-glucose level. He rummaged around for a moment more before finding some string cheese. That would have to suffice for protein.

He shut the fridge and grabbed a few pomegranate seeds for himself. He popped them in his mouth before turning with the fruit in his outstretched hand.

“You want some…” The rest of the sentence died in his mouth.

Bruce was staring at him, no, at the pomegranate, at his mouth, and back at the pomegranate again. His skin had gone pale, and genuine terror twisted his face. He stood up from the counter and backed away slowly.

“I-I need…I need to be alone. I can’t.” Bruce shook his head.

Tony looked at the pomegranate in his hand, placing it carefully on the counter. He’d done something to trigger Bruce, something to do with the pomegranate. Guilt, hot and leaden flooded his senses.

“Bruce, it’s okay,” he insisted, his tone choked. He took a step forward.

Bruce took an equal step backward. “No. No, I can’t.” Bruce hung his head, muscles pulled taught until it looked like he would injure himself with the strain. He took a shaky breath. “I can’t,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Tony watched, helpless, as Bruce ran from him.

He couldn’t do this alone. He’d known that from the beginning, but he’d let Steve’s confidence in him convince him otherwise. No, Tony wasn’t enough. It cut him deeply to admit that, that he wasn’t enough for Bruce.

But who else did Bruce have?

The only person who could possibly understand what he was going through was Steve, but neither of them wanted to see each other. According to Hulk, Bruce wouldn’t open up to the rest of the team. Hulk had said there were only two others they trusted enough, besides him. One was Betty. He didn’t want to call her, both for selfish reasons and because he didn’t think Bruce could cope with reuniting with her now that she was a married woman, not while he was in this state.

The only other person Hulk had spoken of was a “Cousin Jen.” He assumed he’d been referring to Jennifer Walters, one of Bruce’s only living relatives, and the sole relative he’d ever openly spoken of.

His tone had been fond…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


	4. You’re Not Atlas, You Can’t Hold Up My Sky  (But I Love the Way You Try)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still doing grad school applications, so updates have unfortunately been moved to the back burner for the moment. I'd like to say updates should become more consistent after this month, but I'm honestly not sure. I'll likely be preparing for interviews if I make it that far in the application process.
> 
> Full disclosure, I know very little about Jennifer Walters as a character, especially pre-She-Hulk. She's likely to be OOC in this fic.

The conference room on the Helicarrier was quiet. The debriefing had ended minutes ago, but Steve hadn’t moved from his seat. Fatigue had settled deeply into his muscles and his mind as the adrenaline left his system. That and the crystal-clear images from the mission that flashed behind his eyes made it difficult to focus. He’d zoned out during the debrief, letting broken memories flood his senses, one after the other.

Steve sighed, rubbing at his eyes as his brain finally began to process the events of the mission. It hadn’t gone exactly as planned. AIM was upping their security in response to his and Natasha’s campaign against them, and now seemed to be anticipating their attacks. No one had been seriously injured this time around, but Steve have more bruises than he’d like to admit, and a fair number of shallow wounds. The discomfort they caused was nothing compared to the twisting in his gut elicited by images of fists coming towards him and the sound of gunfire assaulting him.

Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket, bringing him back to the present. The text message, from Tony, only increased his distress.

_Bruce freaked out over a pomegranate and won’t let me see or talk to him. Any other weird triggers you want to warn me about?_

After a few moments of staring at the screen, Steve eventually concluded that he was reading the message correctly. He had no idea why a pomegranate would trigger Bruce, and he was loath to sort through yet another set of memories threatening to plague him at any moment in order to give a thorough and honest answer about potential triggers. Before he could figure out what to say, his phone buzzed again.

_I’m calling in the cavalry._

Steve stared dumbly at the text, trying to make sense of it. He couldn’t think of anyone Tony could conceivably call in this situation. Tony was the only person who seemed to calm Bruce down, and if Bruce wouldn’t talk to Tony, Steve didn’t think he’d talk to anyone.

His fingers hesitated over the phone’s screen, before he finally typed out, _I honestly have no idea about the pomegranate. Who are you calling?_

Steve stared at the message before sending it. It seemed inadequate, but there wasn’t anything else to say. The phone buzzed again.

_Bruce’s cousin._

Immediately, Steve’s fingers tapped the phone’s screen and made to call Tony of their own accord. He forced himself to stop. Tony was a genius. If someone walked into the conference room, or too much background noise could be heard over the phone, he’d figure out Steve was on the helicarier. He’d want to know why, and Steve knew he wasn’t a convincing liar.

Steve took a deep breath and grimaced. He couldn’t call Tony, but he needed to talk to him sooner rather than later. Bruce had mentioned his cousin once or twice, but as far as he knew, they hadn’t spoken in a long time. Calling her could be a catastrophic mistake.

Another text from Tony came through. _Really? Nothing about a pomegranate is ringing a bell?_

 _Maybe it wasn’t the pomegranate that triggered him?_ he suggested. Although, it was possible this trigger was a part of the initial torture Bruce had experienced while Steve had thought he was unconscious. He winced, hating the reminder that he’d had no idea the cell was fake.

 _It was definitely the pomegranate,_ Tony insisted.

_Do you really think it’s a good idea to call his cousin? Does Bruce know you’re doing this?_

Steve waited for a reply, but after several, long minutes of silence, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He stood from the table and squared his shoulders, steeling himself to head home and tackle yet another crisis.

***

Bruce’s brain tended to latch on to the thoughts he was most desperate to ignore. So, he wasn’t surprised that his mind was thrumming to the tune of _You love him, you love him, you love him…_

He didn’t. He didn’t love Tony. He couldn’t love Tony. If he loved Tony, that meant he was going to hurt him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually Tony would have to answer for Bruce’s affection. Just as Betty had. Just as his mother had.

He closed his eyes and watched as Tony ate pomegranate seeds from his heart rather than the fruit.

 _“Tony special,”_ Hulk reminded him.

Bruce wanted to scream.

Instead, he stripped and crawled into bed, pulling all of the blankets over his head. If he was asleep, he didn’t have to think, and his body and mind were both begging for rest. He let his eyes drift close in the too hot cocoon and focused on his breathing.

The bedroom door creaked open, rousing him from his half-asleep state.

“Bruce?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Jarvis wasn’t supposed to let anyone in. Although, he was Tony’s AI, so it stood to reason that Tony could override Bruce’s desire for privacy.

The blankets were suddenly jerked away, and Bruce was left with nothing covering him save for boxer shorts. He stared at Tony, who quickly sat down next to him on the bed. Before Bruce could say anything, Tony’s hands were on either side of his face, and his lips were pressed insistently against his own.

The thoughts that had tortured him seemed distant. There was a reason he shouldn’t kiss back, he knew, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He closed his eyes to focus, but was overwhelmed by the softness of Tony’s lips, the gentle scratch of his goatee, the way his scent surrounded and wrapped around him to suffuse him with comfort.

Bruce gave in. He moved his lips against Tony’s, hands exploring under Tony’s shirt, feeling where the casing for the arc reactor met mortal flesh. He needed more of Tony, he needed to feel him everywhere. He wanted to know him so completely, he didn’t have to worry about the way Tony knew him in turn. Sucking at his neck, Bruce inhaled Tony’s scent and felt at peace.

Someone was saying something. Bruce strained to hear over his own, racing heart.

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,” twin voices whispered. He realized belatedly the voices belonged to himself and Tony.

Bruce frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line against Tony’s shoulder. Regardless, his voice still rang out, and it was then that he realized there was no way this could be real.

Bruce opened his eyes to darkness and the feeling of satin sheets on his skin. His heart still raced and he was still half-hard, but those were the only things from the dream that had been real. No, that was a lie. He also still loved Tony.

Tears forcefully burned their way out of him, and he closed his eyes against them. Despite the fact that Tony, the one person who could and would comfort him, was in walking distance, Bruce had to stay away from him for his own good. The worst thing of all was that Tony would be more than willing to help, even if he knew the nature of the feelings Bruce was struggling with. All Bruce would have to do was let him.

He had never felt so alone.

***

“This is Jennifer Walters, Attorney at Law,” a woman’s voice, her tone professional and expecting, said through the phone.

Tony hesitated, his mouth suddenly dry. Rarely did he doubt himself, but now he wondered if calling Bruce’s cousin was the correct course of action.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Walters, this is Tony Stark,” he replied, her irritated tone snapping him from his thoughts. This might not be the best idea, but it was the only one he had, and Tony was nothing if not a man of action. He needed to plow forward. If this later proved to be a mistake, he’d fix it.

Tony realized the line had stayed silent for too long. He wondered if she’d hung up, until he heard her huff a joyless laugh.

“Don’t take this the wrong way Mr. Stark,” she began, tone rueful, “but you’re not the Avenger I was hoping would call.”

Tony swallowed hard. She sounded hurt in an understated, or perhaps resigned, way that reminded him of Bruce. Another sliver of doubt wriggled its way into his chest, but he pushed it down. He’d already passed the point of no return.

“I wish this call was under better circumstances, and believe me, I wish he was the one making it, but Bruce needs your help,” he said in a rush.

“What’s wrong?” Her tone had immediately changed from upset to worried, and Tony let out a sigh of relief. “What happened, is he alright?” she continued.

“He’s, well, he’s not alright, I’m not going to lie to you. But he’s also not in any immediate danger from anyone other than himself.”

Jennifer let out a shaky breath. “How do you mean? Did he…is he hurting himself?”

Images of Bruce’s blistered palm and thrashing body caused Tony to swallow hard. “He needs people he can trust, people who will support him,” he deflected. “Something happened, and it brought up all of his old wounds. I don’t even know the extent of it myself, you’d have to talk to Steve--”

“Steve,” she interrupted. “You mean Captain America?” There was a hysterical edge to her tone.

“The one and only. He was with him during the...ordeal.” Tony cringed as soon as the word left his mouth. It seemed woefully inadequate, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to be more descriptive. To outwardly call Bruce’s torture what it was felt like a betrayal. And yet, here he was, talking about it behind his friend’s back.

“Is he hurt?” Jennifer asked. “I thought—But the Hulk seems…”

Tony forced himself outside of his own head as much as he could. “It was mental,” he said softly, “not physical.”

The line went silent again. Eventually, she asked in a measured voice, “How do I know this is really Tony Stark? Bruce has lots of enemies.”

Tony grinned. Walters was smart, though he should have expected nothing less from one of Bruce’s blood relatives. “Okay, ignoring my ego, which is now bruised because you didn’t instantly recognize the voice of the most eligible bachelor on Earth…”

Jennifer snorted, and Tony’s grin softened a little despite himself. He pulled up a holo-screen and hacked into her phone with a few taps. In moments, his own face appeared in the corner of the screen, while the rest of it looked muted and black.

“If you could look at your phone for a second…”

The picture became indistinct as the phone moved, until it settled on the face of a brunette woman in her mid-thirties. What little he could see of her surroundings –the back of a brown couch, and a painting of a red flower surrounded by an otherwise blue wall– suggested she was at home.

“Hi,” he said with a small nod of his head.

Jennifer’s eyes widened in surprise. “A normal person would have just asked to FaceTime me,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “All the more evidence that I’m me, and not a normal person.”

 Jennifer closed her eyes and sighed. The corners of her eyes seemed pinched as she frowned, and he was struck by how much she resembled Bruce in that moment. When Jennifer opened her eyes, Tony could tell by the familiar expression he’d grown fond of on someone else’s face that she’d come to a decision.

“I’ll be on the next flight to New York.”

“No need,” Tony insisted with a shake of his head. “You’re in LA, right? I have a private jet out there. I’ll have someone pick you up in, say, an hour?”

Jennifer frowned. She stared at him, eyes narrowing. Tony had been on this end of stares like that often enough to know she was sizing him up.

Careful to keep his outward appearance neutral, he felt his heart twist. While they differed greatly in appearance, Jennifer’s mannerisms bore an uncanny resemblance to Bruce’s. It was making it difficult to compartmentalize and focus on the task at hand.

Eventually, her expression softened into something practically tender. “You must care a lot about him,” she said softly.

Tony swallowed hard, drawing from years of living in the spotlight to keep himself from giving something away. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“That’s good,” she said with a nod. “It’s good that he has friends. He’s always had a hard time making them.”

She continued to stare at him, and the open intensity forced Tony to look away. He cleared his throat before meeting her gaze again. In the time it’d taken to compose himself, she’d apparently taken pity on him and was merely looking at him, rather than staring.

“Do you need my address?” she asked in a carefully neutral tone.

He raised an eyebrow. “I just hacked into your phone.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “If you’re trying to tell me you can get my location from my phone, you could just say that instead of alluding to it.”

“You and Bruce are ridiculously similar, anyone ever tell you that?”

“No.”

Tony blinked, raising both brows at the curt answer.

Jennifer sighed again, her eyes staring at something offscreen.

He’d dumped a lot of information on her at once, especially considering the fact that she apparently hadn’t heard from Bruce in a while. He couldn’t bring himself to wish he’d spared her from this knowledge, but he did understand it was a lot for her to take in.  “Look,” he began, “I’m sorry. It’s not fair to ask you to drop everything, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“I’m not upset about that.” She bit her lip, and Tony decided to stop being surprised when she reminded him of Bruce. “I just wish you hadn’t been the one to call me,” she continued.

“If it’s any consolation, he’s doing that self-destructive Bruce thing where he pushes everyone away and refuses to ask for help.”

“Oh, lovely,” she said sarcastically. “I appreciate you calling me Mr. Stark—”

“Tony.”

“Tony,” she corrected. “But I need to pack.”

“Of course. Feel free to call this number if you need anything at all. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Jennifer nodded, and the screen went black.

After the call disconnected, Tony gave himself a moment to breathe. It was done, for better or for worse, and he would just have to deal with whatever consequences resulted. He forced himself to focus and make the necessary arrangements for Jennifer’s flight. It only took a call and a handful of texts.

Closing his eyes, he let his head rest on the back of the couch. Now, he just had to tell Bruce. He sat on the couch for an indeterminant amount of time. Eventually, his energy returned, and he forced himself to stand.

“J, patch me in to Bruce’s room.”

“I have to advise against that, sir. May I remind you that Dr. Banner has asked for complete privacy?”

Tony rubbed at his eyes and frowned. “I’m aware of that, but I need to talk to him. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

There was a pause, before Bruce’s voice came through the hidden speakers. “Something better be wrong.”

Tony grimaced. Bruce sounded monotone, and he knew Bruce well enough to realize that meant he was seething. “This is more about trying to make something less wrong.”

Bruce sighed. “Tony—”

“You know how you don’t like surprises?”

There was yet another pause.

“Yes. I am aware that I hate surprises,” Bruce replied. He was speaking slowly and carefully, as if each word were breakable.

This was going to go over terribly. Tony plowed ahead, regardless. “Great, so you can’t get mad at me, because I’m telling you before she gets here—”

“Before who gets here?”

Tony took a deep breath. “I called your cousin.” He paused, waiting for the angrily soft words he was sure would follow that statement. The seconds ticked on, but Bruce remained silent. “I called your cousin,” Tony repeated. “She’ll be here in—”

Jarvis interrupted him. “Dr. Banner has left his room and is en route. I must warn you that his heart rate is elevated considerably.”

Tony put his face in his hands and sighed.

***

Bruce was seeing red, which was better than green but not ideal. As conflicted as he was over his feelings for Tony, he was far from confused about the anger he felt towards him at the moment. He was almost grateful for it, and that sickening thought twisted his gut. If he was mad at Tony, he could ignore the dream he’d had earlier that day. If he was mad at Tony, he could pretend anger was the only strong emotion he felt towards him. If he was mad at Tony, he could bury his head in the sand against the mantra in his head of _you love him, it’ll kill him, you’re selfish, you love him._

That relief rushed from him when he remembered what it was Tony had done, and that it was truly terrible. The last thing Jen needed was to be dragged back into the toxic cesspool that was his life and all of the danger that came with it. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He’d made it to the elevator somehow, in his haze. The moment the elevator doors opened onto the communal floor and Tony came into view, any illusion of calm was shattered. Shaking, he forced himself to continue to walk and not run.

Tony, for his part, looked sheepish. It wasn’t a look Bruce could remember ever seeing on him, before. He felt a stab of vindication as he stopped mere inches from Tony.

“You,” he spat out before clenching his jaw and eyes shut and taking a deep breath. “You had no right,” he managed to say before closing his mouth again against the rage that threatened to pour out. Even if he hated Tony in this moment, he didn’t want to hurt him. He was suddenly terrified of saying something that would irreparably damage their friendship, and that combined with the anger he felt towards Tony and the fear of what Jennifer would think of him, that she hated him, would hate him, was only coming to tell him off--

Bruce tried to inhale and felt the air hitch and stick inside his chest.

“Dr. Banner, your vital signs indicate you may be nearing an incident.”

Jarvis’s voice sounded distant and seemed to echo in his ears. He heard himself laugh. “I’m going to Hulk-out,” he said in disbelief. “I’m going to…I can’t…” His breathe was coming out in harsh pants.

He heard Tony say his name, “Bruce—”

“If you say breathe, I’m going to lose it!” he growled, though his voice blessedly remained his own.

Through squinting eyes, Bruce saw Tony put his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. Not a moment later, Tony started to reach out towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” He wasn’t sure if he’d yelled out of fear for Tony’s wellbeing or out of rage.

Tony immediately put his hands up again. His expression never changed from careful neutrality, and Bruce hated it. He hated how much he appreciated Tony.

 _“Hulk not come out. Not mad at Tony,”_ Hulk insisted. _“Trust Jen.”_

That was the icing on the cake. He was laughing. He could hear himself laughing in disbelief. His childhood psyche and the man he was in love with were conspiring together against him. Of course they were, because this was his life, and his life was hell.

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” Tony insisted. “I’m not…I’m not enough, right now. You need other people to help you through this.”

The strain in Tony’s voice cut through to Bruce, and suddenly he was breathless for an entirely different reason. He looked at Tony’s face and, for the first time, saw uncertainty there. Not just uncertainty, but pain. Tony had done this out of guilt. He’d done it because Bruce had made him feel like he wasn’t enough, when he was the only thing Bruce had. He closed his eyes as anger turned to sorrow. He had done this. He hadn’t given Tony a choice.

“You’re everything,” he admitted wetly, raggedly. “You’re…Tony, I…” Tony’s admission took the fight right out of him, leaving him exhausted and burning once again. He couldn’t finish his sentence, let alone stand up, and he let himself slump to the floor. He was still angry at Tony for calling Jen, but that anger was now secondary to guilt and helplessness.

“Can I touch you?” Tony asked, his voice strained.

Bruce forced himself to open his eyes. Tony was kneeling down in front of him, and Bruce could see there were tears in his own eyes. Tony wasn’t simply watching Bruce’s innermost workings with no judgement, he was exposing himself in turn.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He grabbed Tony and pulled him towards him, burying his face in his shoulder as he finally stopped fighting the anguish and sorrow that beat against him, seeking release. He heard more than felt his own hitching, ugly sobs. It was painful, inconsistent, and completely unnatural, but Bruce couldn’t stop. There was nothing but the press of Tony’s shoulder and the writhing darkness inside of him that pulsed and throbbed in time with his sobs and stuck its thorny barbs into his insides, tearing at him as parts of it were expelled through tears, hitching breaths, and snot.

Time seemed to halt and speed up simultaneously. When he started to come back to himself, he heard Tony whispering, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to get through this. You’re Bruce Banner. You’re strong, you’re brilliant, you’re amazing…”

Bruce was struck by how much it sounded like Tony was saying “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

When he was simply hyperventilating rather than sobbing, Tony helped him stand up. Dazed and unable to process his surroundings, he followed Tony blindly. He somehow felt lighter, yet firmly inside of his body.

They stopped moving, and Bruce blinked until he could see what was in front of him. Tony had brought them to his bedroom, he realized. He could barely bring himself to feel surprised when Tony climbed into bed after him and held him close again.

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce mumbled into Tony’s chest. His mouth felt numb, but he needed to make sure Tony knew this. “You can’t save me from me, no one can. Just keep me company. It’s more than I deserve, anyway.” He heard Tony’s breath hitch. Sleep was claiming him quickly, so he closed his eyes and continued before Tony could interrupt, “You’re not Atlas, and I’ve got a lot on my shoulders. ‘m not gonna let anyone else get crushed by it.”

“You aren’t either,” Tony said firmly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Just tell me what I can do to help.”

Bruce breathed deeply. Tony’s scent helped soothe his mind and nerves, allowing exhaustion to overpower everything else. That, more than anything, was what possessed him to answer truthfully, “Don’t leave me.”

Tony’s hold around him tightened. One hand ran through Bruce’s hair, scratching at his scalp, as he began to hum. A pleasant sense of déjà vu washed over Bruce, relaxing him even further. The richness of Tony’s voice could be heard even when he was simply humming, and Bruce couldn’t keep himself from drifting off when Tony forewent humming to softly sing,

_Solo, why do you have to get so low_

_You’re so…_

_You’ve been waiting in the sun too long_

_But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing_

_For the love you bring won’t mean a thing_

_Unless you sing, sing, sing,_

_Colder, crying on your shoulder_

_Hold her, and tell her everythings gonna be fine…_

***

The first thing he was aware of was the warm body in his arms. The second was that someone was talking. He tightened his hold on Bruce and scrunched his eyes shut, mumbling at whoever was speaking to shut up. If they woke Bruce, there was going to be hell to pay.

“Apologies, sir,” the voice continued, and Tony was awake enough to recognize it belonged to Jarvis, “but Ms. Walters is almost here, and I assumed someone should be present to greet her.”

Nerves attacked Tony with a vengeance. Now fully awake, he carefully extracted himself from Bruce’s embrace, slipped on Bruce’s sneakers, and hurried towards the garage.

The knowledge of his cousin’s arrival had broken Bruce in a way Tony couldn’t have anticipated. Even so, he reminded himself that this was a good idea. She was going to help. Tony knew that Bruce needed someone else to help him through his trauma, someone who knew him better than Tony did. He couldn’t let Bruce’s misplaced guilt over his own shortcomings keep him from something that could help his recovery.

He swallowed hard against the memory of Bruce confidently telling him that no one could save him from himself. Maybe he couldn’t save him, maybe Jennifer couldn’t save him, but they could help him fight his pain. If only Bruce would let them.

A car pulled into the garage almost immediately after his arrival. Hurriedly, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. He wished he would have had time to make himself presentable, but he doubted Jennifer would care much, given the circumstances.

Before the black suburban had come to a complete stop, the passenger door opened and Jennifer Walters was walking towards him. She was taller than Tony had anticipated, and despite wearing casual clothes, looked markedly more put together than he did at the moment.

“Ms. Walters,” he greeted.

She extended a hand, and the firmness of the resulting handshake surprised and comforted him.

“You can call me Jennifer,” she said, looking him over with a frown. “For the world’s most eligible bachelor, you look like you were run over by a truck.”

Tony huffed a laugh despite himself. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

Jennifer’s frown deepened, even as her eyes widened. She looked around the garage, before her gaze returned to him. “Where’s Bruce?”

“He’s sleeping.” Tony wondered if he should have woken him up, despite the dark circles under Bruce’s eyes that had begged him otherwise. Regardless, he felt compelled to reassure Jennifer. “I didn’t want to wake him up. He needs all the sleep he can get, right now.”

A thump alerted him to Happy’s presence. He had retrieved Jennifer’s scant luggage from the trunk of the car, and was quickly bringing it over.

“Thanks Hap. Could you take that to Bruce’s floor?”

“You’re the boss,” Happy said with a nod.

“And be quiet. If you wake him up, I’ll officially change your title to ‘Forehead of Security.’”

Happy snorted at that, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not sure he’s going to like that.” Jennifer said, staring after Happy’s retreating form. Her lips were pressed in a thin line. “He didn’t want to call me for almost a decade, I doubt he wants me in his living space.”

That was news to him. Tony hadn’t realized Bruce hadn’t contacted her at all since the accident. He fought the urge to put his face in his hands. No wonder he’d been so angry with him for calling her, and Jennifer’s reaction to him calling her suddenly made a lot more sense. There was clearly unresolved hurt between Jennifer and Bruce, and now Bruce was going to be forced to confront that in his delicate state of mind.

“Bruce is complicated.” He said it to mostly to be reassuring, but partially out of frustration.

Jennifer huffed. “That’s an understatement.”

He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, but then again, he wasn’t exactly known for being great with boundaries in general. He rubbed at his eyes and continued, “He pushes away the people he cares about most because he thinks he’s protecting them. I know he’s missed you.”

Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest, and Tony could tell that despite his attempt to reassure her, she was still uncertain if she should have come.

“I really have missed you, Jen,” a soft voice said.

Tony watched as Jennifer went absolutely rigid at the sight of Bruce, before turning his own gaze towards him. As awful as Tony knew he looked, Bruce looked infinitely worse. There were dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, a week’s worth of unshaven scruff covering his face, and the too big sweatshirt he was wearing made him appear malnourished and frail.

Jennifer marched towards him, and Tony didn’t miss the way her hands were curled into fists. “You son of a bitch,” she bit out.

Bruce seemed so raw still, and when he winced, Tony suddenly worried he was going to start crying all over again. This wasn’t what he’d envisioned. He felt guilt, sharp and bottomless, as Bruce looked away from Jennifer’s approaching form.

As soon as Jennifer wrapped Bruce in a hug, Tony felt himself deflate with relief.

Bruce froze, eyes wide. Even from a few feet away, Tony could tell his breathing was stilted with emotion.

“How can one person be so smart, yet so stupid?” Jennifer asked.

Tony watched as Bruce hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, and Jennifer immediately pressed his head to her shoulder. He walked past their embracing forms to wait by the door, his gaze turned away from them, in an attempt to give at least the illusion of privacy. He didn’t stop listening, though.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce muttered in a shaky voice. “I didn’t…you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“You’re like a brother to me,” Jennifer said fiercely. “It’s not a matter of ‘should.’ You’re family.”

Bruce must have lifted his head, because his next words were much clearer than before, “I’m supposed to protect you, not the other way around.”

Jennifer scoffed. “Why? Because you’re older?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Bruce whispered, and if it wasn’t for the acoustics in the garage, Tony wouldn’t have heard it at all.

“You were depressed as a kid, Bruce,” Jennifer said, the volume of her voice dropping as well. “I’ve already seen it. You don’t have to hold it in this time, we’ve got you.”

At that, Tony turned his head to see Jennifer staring at him over Bruce’s shoulder. Her expression was unreadable as she gently ran a hand through Bruce’s hair. And as Bruce, safe and held in his younger cousin’s arms, let himself sob for the second time that day, Tony knew this had been the right call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Sing," by Travis. Obviously, I don't own it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	5. The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the interactions between Jen and Bruce in this chapter weren't planned. They just kind of happened. Note that the tags have changed. There's talk of a past suicide attempt, and some vague thoughts about self-harm.

It should have been awkward. They hadn’t seen each other in years, and they were hardly the people they once were. He knew he wasn’t, for worse. He suspected she wasn’t, for better. The confidence Jen always put off as a front during childhood and young adulthood had clearly blossomed into the real thing. She was a successful lawyer with a healthy social life, if her Facebook and Instagram were any indication. He kept away from her, but allowed himself to stay updated on her life in this way. A facsimile of closeness. She had friends who were always tagging her in pictures of them together at fancy restaurants, the gym, coffee shops, the list went on. That wasn’t surprising, though. Jen had always excelled at making friends.

The silence should have been damning, but it wasn’t. He felt overwhelming guilt, of course, but there was also a warm comfort in it, amplified by the occasional clacking and scraping of chopsticks. Bruce was wedged firmly between Jen and Tony on his couch, each of them with a takeout container in hand. He only vaguely remembered Tony ordering Chinese food. The moment they’d arrived on his floor, Jen had pulled him to the couch and maneuvered him so that his head was resting on her shoulder. Being around Jen was so comfortable and familiar, he couldn’t keep himself from spacing off. Sleep wouldn’t come, but his brain was still scrambling to process the events of the last week – had it really only been a week? – and was taking every opportunity it could to shut down his higher-level brain functions and divert all of its energy towards subconscious efforts.

His brain still felt foggy, but he was slowly returning to awareness as he ate. Blinking, he looked at Jen, who stared back with a raised eyebrow and question on her lips, despite a mouth full of chow mein. When he turned to Tony, he noted his expression was tight with concern.

Shame, sharp and heavy erupted in his stomach. He’d never let Jen comfort him in this way, before. As children, he’d played the part of the older sibling, helping her with homework and entertaining her by playing the make-believe, captured prince to her heroic knight. When they were both adults, the lines between older and younger sibling began to blur, but they were still there. He was supposed to protect her. This was not the way to accomplish that. He sighed, setting down his takeout carton and chopsticks, then rubbing at his eyes with both hands.

“Bruce…” Tony said in a cautious tone that spoke too much of how well he knew him.

Bruce forced himself to straighten up and open his eyes, though he refused to look at Tony or Jen, again. He glanced around the room, eventually settling his stare on Jen’s suitcase. He swallowed hard. It wouldn’t be safe for her to stay here, with him. Hulk making appearances in his body meant his control was slipping, and there was every possibility that Hulk wouldn’t recognize Jen, would hurt her on accident. She didn’t have super powers or spy training or a metal suit to keep her safe.

A hand settled on his arm, causing him to jerk away on instinct. He regretted it immediately.

Jen looked surprised, but betrayed no indication that she was upset. “I can stay at a hotel,” she offered.

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, though he had no idea how to respond, when Tony beat him to it.

“Absolutely not.”

He closed his mouth, frowning.

Tony was staring into his takeout container, clearly struggling to grab something with his chopsticks. “There’s no reason for you to pay for a hotel. There are plenty of other rooms in the Tower if you two decide against sharing Bruce’s floor.”

He winced. “It’s not…” He paused to clear his throat, his voice catching and soft. “It’s not that I don’t want you here, Jen.” He stared at his hands, watching them twist around one another in his lap. “I’m having problems with Hulk, right now.” He winced, closing his eyes tightly. “I don’t want us to hurt you.”

“Bruce, are you kidding me?”

He forced his eyes open to glare at Tony, who’s own expression was genuinely incredulous, eyes wide, and mouth downturned. “He’s been showing up in my body, Tony,” Bruce reminded him. “Whatever agreements we made to decide together who’s out have clearly gone out the window, and I haven’t been able to retain control.”

Tony shrugged, and Bruce just about lost it. He mimicked him, shrugging his own shoulder’s exaggeratedly. “What is this?” he asked. “Huh? You disagree?”

Tony’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Not exactly. Worst case scenario, he shows up. You think he’d hurt her?” He nodded towards Jen, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.

“He might not recognize her,” he insisted.

“Bullshit, you know he’s the one who told me you trust her. Hulk has always recognized the people closest to you.” Tony wiped his hands off with a napkin. He then threw it onto the coffee table with more force than necessary, an action that told Bruce just how irritate Tony was, and just how much he was holding back. “You told me that yourself,” Tony continued. “Fuck, he even recognized the team after everything with Mara.” 

Bruce flinched at that name. He forcefully backed into Jen on the couch, but her only response was to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. She moved her hand up and down from his shoulder to his arm in a soothing motion.

“The Hulk can talk?” Jen asked, clearly knowing better than to ask who Mara was. She was obviously redirecting the conversation, and while Bruce wasn’t thrilled with its direction, he was still thankful.

Tony, who had been looking guilty and stricken at Bruce’s reaction, broke into a smile that was only mostly fake. “Of course he can. J, bring up the latest footage of Hulk in the training room.”

A holo-screen depicting Hulk in all of his green-muscled glory appeared in front of them. He noticed Jarvis was only showing them the Hulk’s upper half, the footage obviously edited to preserve Bruce’s dignity. Later, he’d thank him for that. He wondered if that was the result of Pepper’s influence, since the AI certainly hadn’t inherited his tact from Tony.

The footage was pretty tame and expected, at this point. Everyone on the team had sparred with Hulk at least once, and Bruce had poured over the footage countless times in an attempt to convince himself that Tony was right, that the Hulk was a creature capable of thought and a person in his own right. If only the two of them could have anticipated how right, and how wrong, Tony had been.

Hulk was laughing openly on the screen. Giant hands reached for Tony, who was darting out of reach at the last second. This wasn’t a new game, and Hulk was always careful not to hurt Tony when they played it, but it still had Bruce’s stomach in knots. It would only take one accident, just one instance where Hulk forgot to be careful…

 _“Always careful with Tin Man,”_ Hulk protested in their mind.

All of the air in Bruce’s lungs left him in a huff. He could feel Tony’s eyes on him, so he forced himself to take a careful, normal breath.

_“Careful with Jen, too. Hulk miss Jen. Hulk want to say hi!”_

_“Not now,”_ Bruce replied, though he knew it was a lost cause. _“Don’t take my body again,”_ he pleaded.

Hulk made a grunting noise. _“Banner sad…and mad. Hulk make Banner sad-mad?”_

Bruce swallowed hard. The two most important people in his life were watching the video intently, oblivious to the conversation he was having in his mind.

_“Yes, but it’s okay, Hulk. We just need to make some new rules, okay? More fair rules.”_

Hulk grunted again. _“Hulk hate rules.”_

Bruce narrowly kept himself from snorting at that. _“I know you do. But some of the rules will be in your favor. How about…how about we can’t go three consecutive days without you being in control?”_

_“Hulk like that. More days?”_

_“We’ll work up to it,”_ Bruce promised.

_“And annoying rules?”_

_“You don’t take my body without permission. We may have once been the same person—”_

_“Not puny Banner!”_ Hulk insisted.

Bruce winced, rubbing his temple. _“Right, right. You’re not me. You’re the manifestation of my childhood psyche and repressed rage.”_

_“Hulk is Hulk.”_

_“Hulk is Hulk,”_ Bruce agreed. _“And Banner is Banner. How would you like it if I took over your body?”_

 _“…Hulk not like that,”_ he admitted sheepishly. _“Hulk and Banner follow new rules. Spend time with Tony and Jen. Fix Banner.”_

_“Okay, but Hulk, you can’t expect them to be able to magically fix me. I have to do this myself.”_

He felt Hulk nod in his head, like he was gesturing to the screen in front of him. Hulk and Tony had finished playing in the video, and were facing each other. Hulk was talking to Tony.

“Tony fix Banner,” he insisted.

“I’m trying my best, bud,” Tony replied with a reassuring smile.

Hulk huffed. “Tony good friend. Tony special.”

Bruce heard Tony laugh. “So you keep saying.”

Bruce blanched at that. It was one thing for Hulk to tell him that, it was another entirely for him to say it to Tony.

_“Tony say he help fix. Let Jen and Tony help fix.”_

Bruce couldn’t respond, could only watch as the green bled from Hulk on the screen, sharp cracks and popping noises accompanying low whimpers and moans that he had been powerless to stop in his unconscious state. He wrapped his arms around himself. That certainly wasn’t something Jen had needed to see. That wasn’t something he wanted anyone to see.

He forced himself to watch as the Tony onscreen gently caught him and laid him down on the ground, a hand unnecessarily carding through his hair, before he sat down next to Bruce.

“Uh, yeah, you get the gist.” Tony waved a hand at the holoscreen, making it disappear. He had sounded…embarrassed. But when Bruce looked at him, he seemed as sure of himself as ever. No, he must have imagined that. If anyone should have been embarrassed, it was Bruce for having to be taken care of like that.

Jen was still silent, looking thoughtfully at where the screen had been, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “He’s a lot gentler than I thought he’d be. Actually, he sort of reminds me of how I imagine you were when you were really little,” she said flippantly.

Bruce thought he was going to vomit. Jen had guessed it using mere speculation and after being around him for a handful of hours. She wouldn’t have even been old enough to remember him acting like that, and yet she’d put two and two together. Further proof he’d chosen to stay blind to the truth, locking the little boy up in his head because it was easier. If the Hulk wasn’t a person, wasn’t him, he didn’t need to feel bad about the way he had treated him.

“It might just be because he looks like you. I can’t remember you ever smiling that much, or being that carefree,” she continued.

There was an odd, scared noise that sounded unintentional. It had to have been from him, but it didn’t feel like it, didn’t seem like it. Vision narrowing, noise whiting out, he was his father. He’d abused a child. He’d tried to kill that child! He’d killed his father! Now he was wearing his father’s face, inheriting his birthright. He needed to rip and tear at his skin, blood trickling down as a form of baptism, penance, he deserved to die, he deserved—

_“Banner calm down!”_

And wasn’t it just the irony of ironies that Hulk was begging him to calm down, after all of these years of having to keep calm in order to repress him?

“I am calm!”

A lie. He squeezed his eyes shut. That had been out loud. He threaded his hands in his hair and pulled, arms blocking out everything he couldn’t see. Jen would know. He couldn’t tell her what had happened, what if Tony told her? He wouldn’t do that.

_He should. She needs to know. She needs to know that you’re dangerous._

“I wouldn’t…No…”

_Do you think she’d still love you, if she found out? She’ll understand in ways Tony couldn’t possibly._

“Bruce!”

His name. That was his damnable name. And he knew that voice. He’d known that voice since he was a child himself. He took a long, shaky inhale.

“Bruce, you’re safe. You’re okay. You’re with me and Tony.”

“Just breath, Big Guy. That’s it.”

Tony’s voice. Exhale. They were still talking. He could focus on the voices. Tony and Jen. He could focus…

He opened his eyes and saw them both kneeling on the floor in front of him. Jen, wide-eyed and terrified, though trying to hide it. Tony, resigned and somehow heartbroken all at once.

Slowly, so, so slowly, Jen grasped one of his arms and carefully pulled his hand away from his head. He let his other arm drop as well, and sat up so he wasn’t hunched over. They simply stared at each other, time meaning nothing. Bruce focused only on their eyes and the way his breathing was beginning to even out.

“Hey, Hulk didn’t come out that time.” Tony’s tone was overly cheery, and it made Bruce want to either laugh or cry. The wet noise that came from his throat sounded like some amalgamation of the two.

Hulk huffed in his head. _“Hulk only stay in head because Puny Banner not let Hulk protect. Hulk try to follow rules.”_

Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he focused on what Jen was saying, instead.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, Bruce,” Jen reassured him. Her hand had moved only to intertwine their fingers together, though she knew better than to reach out with her other hand to touch him more than she already was.

They sat there until Bruce’s heartrate and breathing returned to normal, simply suspended in time. Finally, Bruce rubbed at his eyes and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Tony threw his head back and groaned. “Would you stop apologizing?”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” Bruce told the both of them. Then he looked at Tony pointedly and asked, “When’s the last time you even slept?” He had dark circles under his eyes, and his usually polished appearance looked markedly unkempt, goatee untrimmed and hair sticking out in various directions.

“I napped when you went to bed after eating soup,” he replied indignantly.

“Tony…that was almost twenty-four hours ago.”

“Go sleep,” Jen urged as she herself got to her feet. “Bruce and I will be fine.”

Tony wanted to protest, Bruce could tell, but Tony also kept looking at Jen before eventually standing up with a sigh. “Fine. If you need anything at all, just ask JARVIS.”

That was probably the quickest Bruce had ever seen Tony give up on something. He watched Tony leave, noted the way his shoulders seemed too tense, the slight stumble in his usually assured step that betrayed just how tired Tony really was.

Sighing, Bruce looked at Jen. This was ridiculous, he was a grown man, and she shouldn’t have to babysit him. He opened his mouth to apologize.

Jen sat down on the other end of the couch, instead of right next to him. “I don’t want to hear an apology unless it’s for leaving me in the dark for nearly ten years.” The distance between them suddenly made a lot more sense. He should recognize it, he had put it there, after all.

This was what he’d expected. This was what he had been dreading. “Jen—”

“Don’t ‘Jen’ me.” She looked away, staring instead at the far wall. “I thought you were dead. Then, the Battle of New York happened, and I found out you weren’t.” When she looked back, there were tears in her eyes. “I waited every day for you to call me. Why didn’t you call?”

Bruce swallowed hard. It seemed she’d been holding all of this in until they were alone, and now, she couldn’t keep herself from demanding to know why Bruce had hurt her. Nothing he could say to her would excuse his actions. But, he owed her an explanation.

“I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, right now. I know that,” she continued. “You’re dealing with a lot, but…but I just…” She threw her hands up with a shake of her head, and then let her arms fall listlessly back down to the couch. “You don’t have to answer me, right now. Not after what just happened.” She put her head in her hand for a moment, shaking it again, before composing herself. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

No, what wasn’t fair was letting Jennifer think he was dead, and then refusing to give her answers. “I was a fugitive for a long time,” Bruce quietly began. He’d rehearsed what he’d say to Jenny when he finally saw her again countless times, but now here he was, words sticking in his head and in his throat, that script all but forgotten. “And then, suddenly, I wasn’t,” he continued. “Even after that I was afraid that Hulk…I didn’t know what he was. Or, maybe I did.” He took a shuddering breath, some part of him hoping Jen would interrupt and he wouldn’t have to continue. She didn’t. “Maybe I didn’t want to admit it. But either way, I was still afraid of him. I was scared of coming back into your life, disrupting it and hurting you just like I did to Betty’s years ago—”

“You went to Betty Ross, but not to me?” she asked, eyes wide, and righteous anger making her sit up straighter.

“No, not intentionally,” he assured her. He never intentionally brought anyone into his chaotic and damning sphere. “I…It’s a long story, but I had to go to Culver, and she saw me. It wasn’t a conscious decision, and you know Betty.” His tone was fond, despite everything. He couldn’t help it. “Once she decided she was coming with me, I couldn’t really stop her.”

“But you left her, again.”

Jen was smart. She knew Betty wouldn’t have been the one to give up. To let go. Bruce laughed sadly. Had his laughter ever represented anything but the wry sadness he’d learned to wrap around himself? “Yes. I didn’t want her to get hurt.” Then, more quietly and with his gaze on the floor, “I didn’t want to hurt her, again. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He swallowed hard, looking Jen in the eye. “I put her in the hospital the first time Hulk came out. I hurt her, like…like…” He put his head in his hands. He couldn’t even say it. He couldn’t even say what he was out-loud.

“Oh, Bruce,” Jen said gently.

Bruce refused to look up from his hands, trying his best to stay silent as his whole body was wracked with sobs. He didn’t deserve to cry. This wasn’t about him, it was about Jen’s pain, pain that he’d caused.

“You’re not him.” Her voice was still quiet, but her tone was fiercely certain.

“No. No, Jen, I am.” He stood up, pacing, running a hand through his hair. He turned, looked at her again. Her expression was so understanding, and Bruce knew that was only because she didn’t understand. “Hulk is me,” he spat out. “He’s…he’s an alter, another personality. You were right, he’s me when I was a kid. An angry, abused kid. And I tried to cure myself of him, tried to kill him, kept him locked up in my head, hated him more than I’d ever hated anyone in my life, and I didn’t even consider him to be a human being—”

His tirade and pacing were cut off when he turned around and was face-to-face with Jen. “Bruce, you didn’t know—”

“I killed him!”

Jen furrowed her brows and frowned.

“I…I killed him,” Bruce repeated more quietly. “He…they released him from the institution. And…and I had recently had my accident, so I went back to-to visit her one more time, and he was there. He was there, and he tried to hit me, and-and I pushed him away, and he hit his head, blood all over her tombstone, unmoving, and Jen,” he gripped her unmoving form, hands wrapping around her shoulders. “I _killed_ him.”

Jen’s expression had remained the same throughout his rambling. He was breathing hard, eyes darting around her face, looking for something, anything, that would indicate how she felt about him, now.

“Bruce. That sounds like it was an accident.”

He released her, hands burying themselves into his hair, again. He hated that gentle, patient tone she was using with him. “No, no, Jen, you don’t understand. Part of me was happy! And then I forgot! I repressed the memory until…until all of this!”

She placed her own hands on his shaking shoulders, fingers moving in motions meant to soothe. “You’re entitled to that. You’re entitled to be relieved. I’m relieved for you, Bruce.”

“You don’t understand!”

 “You think I wouldn’t be overjoyed to find out my mother’s killer was dead? You think I wouldn’t kill him myself, given the opportunity?” she challenged.

“I know you wouldn’t! You’d make sure he spent his life behind bars—”

“Bruce, if he came at me and I reacted in self-defense, and that resulted in his death, I wouldn’t feel a single shred of remorse.”

He paused, finally stilling. When she put it like that, it didn’t sound as bad. But, no. Bruce shook his head. Their circumstances weren’t the same. “Her murderer wasn’t your father.”

“Brian was never a father to you,” she said fiercely, gritting her teeth. “The way he treated you…what he did to Aunt Rebecca—”

“Stop making excuses for me! What about the bomb?”

Jen froze. She chewed her lip for a moment, before replying in an even tone. “I thought you never wanted to talk about that.”

“I didn’t and I don’t, but I did that.”

Jen sighed. She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, before leveling him with yet another certain gaze. “You tried to kill yourself. How does that make you Brian?”

“If that bomb had gone off, I could have hurt so many people.” He’d been young and angry and bullied relentlessly by teachers and classmates alike, and none of that was an excuse.

“Bruce,” she began with exaggerated patience. “Part of the reason the military recruited you was because of the way you calibrated the bomb to have an extremely specific and _small_ ,” she emphasized, pausing to raise her brows at him and lean forward, “blast radius, which wouldn’t have caused any damage to anyone or anything outside of yourself and was, according to them, ‘ingenious.’” Her mouth was twisted up, and her arms were folded across her chest. “I, personally, think they’re sick fucks for saying that out loud. But the point still stands. You never intended to hurt anyone other than yourself. Even if that bomb had gone off, you would have been the only person killed.”

She just didn’t understand! “I thought about it,” he gritted out. “I could have done it somewhere else, but I decided to do it in the school, and I did it when a specific class was going on above me, just in case—”

Jen threw her hands up in frustration. “’Just in case’ is not the same! I’m not saying what you did wasn’t awful and an obvious cry for help, but I’m not about to let you compare yourself to him!”

Bruce had no more fight left in him. He swallowed hard and turned away from Jen, walking over to the couch. Of course, Jen followed him. This time, she sat so close, their thighs were touching.

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent on making me think you’re a terrible person,” she muttered.

“Because I am.”

Jen sighed. “I know you. You’re a lot of things, Bruce, but a bad person isn’t one of them.”

He shook his head, which apparently only prompted Jennifer to continue.

“You’re my cousin, whom I love, a brilliant physicist, a deeply compassionate and passionate man, and you occasionally turn really big and green and help save the world.”

He huffed a laugh, despite himself.

“So you’ve made some mistakes. Who hasn’t?”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. His mistakes were so much worse than the typical ones, so much so that it seemed silly to attempt to compare them. Silence hung between them, and Bruce continued to stare at the floor.

“Have you considered going to therapy?” Jen softly asked.

He vehemently shook his head. “No. No, that didn’t help when…” he trailed off, not wanting to talk about it.

“I didn’t realize you’d gone, before.”

“Your…your mom took me. Once,” he admitted. “When I was still having nightmares, and after I…I hurt Charlie.”

“That kid who constantly bullied you when we were younger?” He still wouldn’t look at her, but her tone made it clear she thought the kid had had it coming.

“I broke his wrist,” he reminded her, irritation coloring his own tone.

She didn’t respond to that, instead asking, “What happened with the therapist?”

“He said ‘boys will be boys,’” he mumbled.

“Jesus Christ. See, this is exactly why toxic masculinity is so insidious! This is why,” she continued.

Bruce finally looked at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. She was clearly fuming. There was something comforting about hearing his cousin go off on a feminist tangent. It almost felt normal.

“Jen,” he said softly.

Jennifer stopped with an aggravated sigh. “Right, right. Sorry.” Her brows unknit, and she lifted them while tilting her head in concern. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

Actually, he was. Bruce breathed deeply, letting his tear-swollen eyes close. When he opened them again, he gave Jen a small smile. “Uh, yeah. Actually. I’m sorry—”

“Tony’s right, you have got to stop apologizing.”

“No, no I’m sorry for waiting so long to...” he paused, biting his lip. She raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue, “To call you.”

Her expression softened. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she leaned on him, her head settling on his shoulder. “I’m not going to say it’s okay, because it’s not.”

Bruce snorted. “You’re such a lawyer, hung up on technicalities and turns of phrase.”

She nudged him playfully. “ _But_ ,” she continued, “I understand that you had a lot going on, and you thought you were doing what’s best for me. Even if you were wrong.”

Bruce didn’t try to argue. He was too tired, and the conversation wouldn’t have gone anywhere. Instead, they sat together in comfortable silence.

 _“Jen fix,”_ Hulk said smugly.

Bruce had no time to respond to that, before Jen asked, “Hey, you want to fill me in on what’s going on between you and _Tony Stark_ , of all people?”

He furrowed his brows and turned to look at her. She was simply staring at him with an expectant expression. “He’s a friend,” he answered. “A very good friend. We occasionally save the world together. See, we’re both a part of this team that defeated an alien invasion,” Bruce teased.

She nudged him again. “I mean, are you guys dating?”

Bruce made a choked noise and stood quickly from the couch. “Why would you think that?”

Struggling to right herself after Bruce moved so suddenly, Jen somehow managed to dubiously stare at him. “Seriously? He obviously cares about you. A lot. I’m not saying a friend couldn’t take care of you like this, but it’d be a bit of a stretch, to be honest. And if that was the case, where are the other Avengers?”

“How do you know I’m friends with the others?” he countered.

Jen ignored him. “Are you telling me Tony Stark, the man who’s infamous for being a charming asshole, is gentle and soft with everyone? What, his dick-ishness is all just a media persona?”

“I mean, a lot of it is, but—”

Jen sighed. “Bruce. Come on.”

“I’m…I like him,” he confessed. Jen’s ability to read him like a book was starting to become irritating. It meant it was pointless to lie to her. “I don’t know if he likes me back,” he admitted. He didn’t tell her it wouldn’t matter, regardless. He didn’t want to start another fight.

Jen snorted a laugh. “What are you, twelve?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You asked.” He tried, and failed, to not sound defensive.

“He does. Obviously.”

Maybe that was true—Bruce thought about the events of the past few days and admitted that it was almost certainly true—but he wasn’t mentally in a place to have a relationship, right now. He had too much baggage. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to try to start something. And then there was the matter of whether or not they even should. Images of Betty assaulted him, his heart in her hand, pomegranate seeds between her teeth, lying dead and out of reach—

Bruce spluttered and stepped backwards when something soft hit him in the face. He stared down at the pillow for a second in surprise, before glaring at Jen.

“Stop thinking,” she demanded. “It’s ice cream and movie time.”

That sounded good. He was still loath to try and sleep, but watching a movie with Jen would be a great opportunity to space out a little. A facsimile of sleep, at least.

He bent down and promptly threw the pillow back at Jen, who caught it easily. “What if I don’t have any ice cream?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you do. It’s the only thing you ever had consistently stocked, back in the day.”

There was no denying that. He grabbed bowls and spoons while Jen surveyed his freezer. Once she had finally grabbed tubs of chocolate fudge brownie and chocolate chip cookie dough, she snatched the spoons from him and took the tubs to the couch.

“Leave the bowls!” she called.

Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

***

As much as Tony didn’t want to leave Bruce’s side, he had a feeling he and Jennifer could use some time alone. She hadn’t seen Bruce in years, the least he could do was give them some space. And besides, sleep actually sounded great, for once.

He stepped off the elevator and onto his floor, forgoing a shower to head straight to bed.

“Sir, Miss Potts is requesting to speak with you.”

Tony groaned. Of course, she was. “Put her through, J.”

“Tony, where have you been?”

He noted that she sounded irate. “It’s a long story, Pep. I’ve been taking care of Bruce.”

“Is he okay?” she asked, her tone immediately changing to concerned.

“Technically speaking, yes. His cousin is with him right now, so he’s in good hands.” He sat on his bed, stripping down to his boxers. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. He was going to sleep very well, once this call was over.

“Oh good. Well, I called to let you know I need you to sign some very time sensitive paperwork.”

With his undershirt halfway over his head, Tony groaned again.

“Tony, please. I’ve already had to push this back once, I can’t do it again. You’ve been gone for a week!”

That was true. He hadn’t done anything SI related the entire time Bruce and Steve had been captured, and then he’d been too busy pouring over AIM’s files, and then taking care of Bruce. He and Pepper were still good friends, despite the break up, and she was still acting CEO. He owed Pepper this much, his company notwithstanding.

“Fine. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Excellent, I’ll see you then.”

Tony sat on the bed for a second longer, letting it taunt him. He’d just thrown on a fresh pair of jeans, when Jarvis spoke again, “Sir, SHIELD is on the line.”

He was about ready to throw something. “Tell them to call back, later.”

By the time he’d put on an old band T-shirt, Jarvis was apologizing. “I’m sorry, sir. Director Fury is insistent.”

This was just what he needed. He threw in his wireless earbuds and walked onto the elevator.

“Stark, where the hell is that report?”

“Fury, great to hear from you,” Tony replied, sounding absolutely saccharine. “Bruce is doing fine, thanks for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear Doctor Banner is doing well.” Tony thought it was clear from Fury’s tone that he could care less. “We need that report regarding AIM’s files. Or, if you’re not up to the task, you could just share the files with us.”

Bristling, Tony decided to hell with pretense. “Listen, Davey Jones, SHIELD isn’t getting its hands on those files. Bruce’s privacy has already been violated enough.”

“Then hurry the fuck up, Stark,” Fury demanded before hanging up.

Tony held in a curse as he entered Pepper’s office. There was no way Fury or Hill or any other random agent was going to be allowed to read about Bruce’s most private thoughts, feelings, and fears. No way in hell would he allow that. For now, though, all he could do was go through this paperwork as fast as possible.

***

“Thor?” Tony said in confusion. His teammate was sitting on the couch on the common room floor, watching _Ancient Aliens_.

“Stark,” he greeted, following Tony into the kitchen.

Tony opened the fridge, searching for leftovers. His own floor was devoid of anything he didn’t have to cook. He wasn’t a great cook at the best of times, and he really didn’t have the patience for it, now. “You know that show is just racist bullshit, right?” he said, his head practically inside the fridge.

“Aye. It’s ridiculous. I find it funny, though.”

He snorted. “Whatever floats your boat.” Pulling out some deli meat and string cheese, he regarded Thor. “I thought you’d gone back to Asgard?”

Thor frowned. “Why would you think that? I’m not going anywhere until Banner is well.”

That was surprising, but he figured it shouldn’t have been. Thor cared very deeply about everyone on the team, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. It was kind of weird. Tony wrapped a piece of ham around some string cheese and took a bite. If Thor was so concerned, he should probably give him an update. “He’s doing better,” he said around a mouth full of food. “Not great, but better.”

“Any chance we could see him?”

Tony raised a brow at Clint, looking freshly showered and covered in Band-Aids, as he walked over to them and leaned on the island countertop.

“Mission over so soon?” Thor asked.

Clint shrugged. “What can I say? When you’re the best around,” he sang, “nothing’s ever gonna keep ya down.”

Tony took another bite of his snack. “Sure, Karate Kid. That’s why you have an Elsa Band-Aide on your nose.”

“You’re jealous.” Clint swiped a piece of deli meat and shoved all of it in his mouth at once. “So, can we see him?” he asked again, voice muffled.

“I don’t think he’s up to that, right now. You can ask, though.”

“Seriously, how is he?”

Tony saw the concerned expression on Clint’s face, then looked to see it mirrored on Thor’s, and sighed. He dropped the ham and cheese on the counter and straightened up. “AIM did a number on him,” he admitted. “He’s having anxiety attacks, and some other weird shit is happening, but his cousin is here now, and I think she’s going to be able to really help him.”

Clint nodded, arms crossed and expression somber. “Well I’m glad she’s here. Shit, I hope SHIELD catches the rest of those AIM bastards, soon.”

Tony pressed his lips into a thin line. That was interesting. “Does SHIELD have a lot of intel on them?”

“Oh yeah.” Clint grabbed another piece of ham. “They’ve been on our radar for years. They’re a pretty big organization. Have lots of locations.” He shoved the meat into his mouth. “I’m surprised they haven’t already given you that intel.”

“They wouldn’t give it to me until I finished my report, and I’ve been a little busy with Bruce. I stole it all, naturally, but I haven’t had time to sort through it because, again, busy with Bruce.”

“Yeah, I know they’re trying to be vague, given the whole Nat and Steve situation,” Clint said with a shrug.

“What situation?”

Clint gave him an odd look. “What, they didn’t tell you?” As Tony’s expression turned from disbelieving to furious, Clint tried to explain, “Oh shit, look, I know SHIELD wanted it to be a secret, but I didn’t think they’d actually do that. Fuck, I should have asked them first, but honestly, you and Bruce deserve to know—”

Tony held up a hand, effectively cutting off Clint’s rambling.

“What are you talking about, Barton?” Thor demanded before Tony could.

“Okay, don’t be mad at them, but,” Clint began, and then promptly explained how Natasha and Steve had been going on secret missions to take out AIM’s remaining outposts. “Steve said SHIELD asked them to keep it a secret, but he never actually said they were going to, so I just assumed they didn’t. I never had a chance to talk to Nat about it. I’m sure they had a good reason to go along with it,” he insisted.

Tony was fuming. So much for team spirit and trust. What a fucking joke. When Steve had bared his soul to him about Barnes, had that all just been an act? No, he was pissed, but that wasn’t fair. He took a deep breath. It was Fury he should be the angriest at. He was the mastermind behind all of this. He’d had every opportunity to come clean when they’d talked, earlier, and he’d still chosen to leave Tony in the dark.

“Fury’s up to something,” he said, interrupting whatever Clint was saying. He pushed away from where he’d been leaning on the counter and headed to the lab, phone out and thumbing through documents on the way there. Something wasn’t right.

Hours passed in the lab. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been pouring over SHIELD’s documents. JARVIS had sorted through them, only pulling up those that mentioned Bruce, Steve, Hulk, or the super-soldier-serum. It seemed like the best place to start, but so far he’d learned nothing, other than that the so called Scientist Supreme, Monica Rappacinni, had gone to the same college as Bruce for grad school. In fact, SHIELD noted that they had been having casual sex, which Rappacinni had used to get close enough to Bruce to steal his work and use it to finish her thesis. Of course she had, because Bruce was the least lucky individual on the planet.

That fact had Tony’s blood boiling, and the personal connection added additional motive for Rappaccini to allow Mara to torture Bruce, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. His gut was telling him to finish looking over the files he’d stolen from the facility that had captured Bruce and Steve. Following that hunch (because what did he have to lose?), Tony began reading over the documents regarding Steve’s blood.

“What the hell?” Tony breathed.

It seemed they couldn’t figure out how to duplicate the serum, so they’d taken to trying to reverse its affects. The idea was if they could create an anti-serum, they may be able to then reverse engineer the actual serum from it. It was stupid, fallible logic. Tony shouldn’t have been surprised, though. This was an organization that was trying to achieve world domination. Logic wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

This had also resulted in failure after failure. Until it hadn’t.

“Oh, son of a bitch.”

He needed to find Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	6. Into the Lion's Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos. You've really inspired me to continue this story.

There was blood and rubble, corpses strewn across the ground in various states of decay and dissemination. He gasped a shuddering breath, willing his eyes to shut, but unable to make them. A step forward, something wet, a puddle with his father’s reflection rather than his own. A scream was ripped from his throat as he fell through and landed with a red splash.

“Tony?”

At the center of it all, a heart in his hand, cut open, plucking seeds from it one by one. Tony looked up at him, a soft smile on his face (that smile that, Bruce was realizing, was only ever gifted to him and him alone). Blood stained his teeth, dripping from his lips.

“Hey, Big Guy.”

Before Bruce could respond, Tony’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped to the floor. Steve stood just past Tony, staring at him with a knowing look, muscles taught, his narrowed eyes pinning Bruce where he stood.

“I know what you are.”

He flinched at the statement, the disappointed tone, and that snapped Bruce back into action, allowing him to ignore Steve, no, now it was Jen, and run towards Tony’s unmoving form. He was mumbling, he realized distantly, repeating Tony’s name, the sound becoming higher pitched, louder, as he fumbled to take Tony’s nonexistent pulse.

“Tony, Tony no. Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please,” he babbled.

“Why would you do this?” two voices hissed in his ear.

Bruce bolted upright in bed as he screamed Tony’s name.

“Bruce?”

The voice wasn’t Tony’s, but it was familiar, so different from the malice it had held only moments before. Soothing. Chest heaving as he struggled to regulate his breathing, Bruce blinked into the darkness until he could make out its owner standing in the doorway. He couldn’t discern her expression without his glasses, but Jen’s voice made him imagine she was concerned.

“Hey.” His own voice was weak, catching in his throat from sleep and fear.

Jen must have taken his response as permission to enter the room, because she quickly crossed over to his bed and sat down next to him. Up close, Bruce could see the worry crinkling her eyes, though he knew she was trying to hide it. Oddly enough, he found her presence, and her scent, comforting. It was like home and childhood, and it gave him a nostalgia for things he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually had.

Hand idly rubbing up and down Bruce’s arm, she whispered, “Sounded like one hell of a dream.”

All Bruce could do was nod.

“You want to talk about it?”

Now Bruce could only shake his head. He thought he should speak, but his voice couldn’t get past the opening of his throat. It was just as well. He didn’t even want to think about the dream, let alone talk.

“Do you want a hug?”

That…actually sounded nice, and she’d already seen him fall apart. It wasn’t like he had dignity to preserve, at this point. He slumped over, letting his head rest on Jen’s shoulder, and she wrapped an arm around him in response.

They sat in silence for as long as Bruce could stand it, which wasn’t long. Forcing his words into being felt like a monumental task, but he managed. “Tell me about your life.”

“Oh, Bruce, you don’t have to—”

“Please.”

His tone sounded desperate, and he was glad he’d decided he didn’t have dignity, because he definitely would have lost it again, just now. At least words were coming more easily.

Jen sighed. “There’s not much to tell.”

“What’s it like being a successful, LA lawyer?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not…” Jen trailed off and laughed that uncomfortable, awkward little laugh Bruce knew so well. It was the laugh she used to downplay her accomplishments, not because she felt she had to, but because she genuinely didn’t understand her own worth.

It looked like Jen hadn’t grown into that fake confidence as much as he’d thought, after all.

He wanted to ask if she was seeing anyone romantically. He had meant to, anyway, because if she knew about his love life, or lack thereof, it was only fair he knew about hers. And if she kept talking, he didn’t have to think about how they _knew_. Jen and Steve, they both knew. His brain couldn’t let go of the fact that they were both still here, and it made no sense.

He’d been plagued by the idea that he was still being tortured, that nothing happening was real, when he’d first arrived home. And then even after he’d calmed down, he’d still wondered. For whatever reason, that fear came back with a vengeance. That sick, unsteady feeling he’d felt on the plane ride home reverberated throughout his body, making his muscles all clench painfully and his stomach twist. Maybe this wasn’t real. That would explain why Steve hadn’t locked him up, why Jen was here and had seemingly forgiven him (shit, she didn’t even care that he’d killed his own father!), why Tony had stuck by him throughout everything, and even seemed to have feelings for him.

His thoughts were interrupted when Tony dashed into the room. “Bruce, I need to—”

Tony didn’t slow, he simply froze. He stared a moment too long, before going from tense, straight lines to a slumped mass that leaned against the doorframe, his head bent towards Bruce.

It was perfect timing. Too perfect.

“You okay?” Tony’s voice was gentler, though now Bruce could hear the exhaustion it held.

Bruce sat up, pulling away from Jen, and examined Tony’s face as he approached the bed. The black circles were still under his eyes, and that kind of exhaustion that threatened to pull you under any second was draped over him. He also noted how, likely due to his sleep-deprived state, Tony perched on the edge of the mattress so he could sit down right next to him and place a hand on his cheek.

Part of Bruce wanted to flinch backwards, but that part was small, even despite the recent nightmare. He felt himself lean into Tony’s touch, reveling in it for a moment, before panic began to outweigh his contentment. The fact that he craved Tony’s affection this much already was alarming. If this wasn’t real, he couldn’t let himself be lulled into a false sense of security. If it was, that was even worse. He was poisonous, toxic. He’d end up somehow causing Tony’s demise, and simply thinking about that fact threatened to break him.

Something tickled his cheek, breaking Bruce out of his spiraling thoughts. Tony was swiping his thumb gently back and forth, his eyes still questioning.

“Yeah,” Bruce finally answered, and he closed his eyes against the way his voice shook. When he reopened them, he noted that Tony didn’t’ look convinced. Still, he didn’t comment on it.

“Tony, it’s one in the morning.”

Jen’s voice was quietly chastising, and Bruce hated how grateful he was that she’d waited to interject until the moment, concocted or real, had passed. Maybe he should have been embarrassed about the tender display, but he didn’t have the energy, anymore.

Jen’s comment seemed to snap Tony back to reality. He dropped his hand, his expression hardening. “I have to go, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Go?” Bruce tried to wrap his fear-sluggish mind around that. “Go where?”

It was Tony’s turn to wince. “On a mission.”

“Have you even slept?” Bruce asked incredulously, his protectiveness of Tony already rearing its head. “You should stay—”

“It’s Steve. He’s been going after AIM like a fucking idiot, and they have an antidote for the serum.” Tony ran an agitated hand through his already disheveled hair. “SHIELD told him and Natasha not to tell us what they were doing. I already called Fury and screamed at him about hiding this after I initially couldn’t get ahold of Steve.” Tony had that look about him. The one he had when he was inevitably right, but wished he wasn’t. “They lost contact with him and Nat almost an hour ago,” he finished.

“He hid that from you?” Jen’s voice was dripping with incredulity.

Bruce knew he should also be upset that they’d been lied to by omission, but he could only think about one thing.  “I didn’t get a call to assemble.”

Tony looked at him strangely. “None of us expect you to come, you’re still recovering.”

_Hulk help! Protect Star Man!_

“We’re going,” Bruce stated. He wasn’t going to let Steve come to more harm. And he certainly wasn’t going to let Tony fight without him or Hulk when he was so sleep deprived. “Try to sleep on the jet. I’ll fly.”

He was moving towards the door before Tony could try to stop him, though he wasn’t sure his friend would. Tony let him make his own choices. He didn’t try to control him, the way even some of the other Avengers had, in the past. “Don’t get angry.” “Calm down.” “We need the Hulk, you have to change.” Even if what was happening right now wasn’t real, Bruce realized that what Tony had always shown him, despite everything, was respect.

As he pressed the button for the elevator, he turned to look at Tony, some sort of “thank you” on the tip of his tongue. He paused when he realized that Jen was still with them. He frowned at Jen, confused as to why she’d followed them all the way to the elevator. It was possible she just wanted to send them off, he reasoned. Her intentions were made clear when she entered the elevator with them, her expression challenging.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes still closed, he addressed her. “Jen?”

“Yes?” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t going to leave without a fight.

He dropped his hand, eyes opening. The hands on her hips, slightly raised brows, and tilt of her head all warned him against arguing with her. Bruce wasn’t very good at heeding warnings, and he wasn’t about to let Jenny, of all people, get hurt.

“It’s not safe,” he insisted.

“I don’t care.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m coming with you.”

It could have been his frayed nerves or the fact that he was with Jennifer and Tony, two people who didn’t cower the moment he became agitated, but he actually raised his voice. “It’s way too dangerous!”

“I’m going! I’ll stay on the sidelines—”

“Who’s going to protect you on those quote-unquote sidelines?”

“SHIELD is sending back up,” Tony cut in. He’d stayed silent longer than Bruce had expected, if he were being honest. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, and renewed worry over his exhausted state made Bruce forget to be upset that he was lending credence to Jennifer’s argument. Or it would have, if Tony hadn’t continued, “If Cap and Widow were captured, Fury doesn’t feel comfortable sending in his agents against the same threat, so we’re first string. I’m sure Jen could wait with them.”

Bruce glared daggers at his friend, until Tony put his hands up in surrender.

Jen looked between the two of them, before settling on staring Bruce down. “I’m going.”

Bruce turned away from Tony to meet Jennifer’s stare. “You’re not.”

“Goddammit, Bruce, don’t push me away again!”

A long silence followed that demand, interrupted only by the ding of the elevator doors opening.

Jen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, she moved her hands from her hips to cross across her chest, and adopted a composed and carefully neutral expression. Bruce wondered if this was what she looked like in the court room. No wonder she won so many cases.

“I’m not going to sit at home and wait to find out something happened to you.”

Bruce grit his teeth and closed his eyes. “Fine,” he ground out, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to make her stay. That was just it, though. He couldn’t “make” Jenny do anything. He was done taking her choices away from her.

They walked out onto the roof to find Clint and Thor already standing next to the quinjet. Even without Hawkeye’s preternatural eyesight, he could tell they were both angry, though Clint was especially tense.

“Hey,” Clint greeted Bruce with a grim expression and a nod. “Glad you’re okay, man. Sorry to cut this reunion short, but we’ve already wasted too much time.” He then climbed into the jet without a second glance.

A sudden wave of guilt over having held up the rescue mission made Bruce’s calm façade fall away. His hands twisted around each other. For whatever reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that Clint and Thor would also be coming on the mission.

“It’s very good to see you, Bruce.” The quiet somberness of Thor’s voice was more affective in grabbing Bruce’s attention than it’s normal, jovial tone. It’s sincerity, though, was almost unbearable, and Bruce found himself looking at the ground between them. Thor must have misinterpreted that, because he added, “Don’t mind him.” He nodded towards the jet, clearly referring to Clint. “He’s worried about both of our friends, though particularly about Natasha.”

“We’re all worried,” Tony pointed out.

Thor leveled Tony with a pointed stare. “You cannot blame the Hawk for being worried about his Spider. Especially not when you acted in kind when Banner was missing.”

Tony’s face twisted almost comically. “I’ll be in the jet.” He grabbed the armor, which had taken on the shape of a suitcase, and practically ran inside.

Bruce watched him leave with furrowed brows. There were too many emotions and questions warring inside him, making it impossible to voice them.

Thor’s voice broke Bruce away from his ill-timed thoughts. “You must be Banner’s cousin.”

Jen offered her hand towards him in greeting. “Jennifer Walters.” Bruce was impressed at how composed she was. Most women tended to devolve into giggling teenagers around Thor. He couldn’t blame them, honestly. Thor was ridiculously charming and handsome.

“Any family of Bruce’s is family of ours.” Thor was smiling pleasantly, both arms held towards Jennifer so as to make his intentions clear. Still, Bruce was pretty sure he heard Jen squeak when he followed through with a hug.

When Thor finally pulled away, he clapped Jen on the back, making her stumble. Of course, he was right there to balance her, moving them both towards the jet. “My apologies. I forget you aren’t as sturdy in your human forms.”

Bruce froze, just inside the jet, at Thor’s words. “Oh. Thor, no, Jen isn’t…she doesn’t have a Hulk.”

Jen’s eyes widened, understanding dawning on her face as she and Thor followed Bruce into the jet. “It’s not genetic, I’m afraid. At least, I don’t think it is.” Jen gave him an unsure smile. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“Pity, I should have like to meet your she-Hulk.”

Before either cousin could respond to that, Clint’s hard voice called to them from the front of the jet. “Alright, sit down and buckle up. Or don’t, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With Jen sitting on one side, and Tony, half-asleep and using his shoulder as a pillow, on the other, Bruce almost hoped this wasn’t real. If it was, he certainly had a lot to lose.

***

There was an incessant beeping. Shrill, rhythmic in a way that ramped up anticipation and made its affects even worse. Steve didn’t think he’d normally mind it, but it felt like someone was drilling into his skull in time with the beeping.

He didn’t know where he was, but he was pretty sure he should. Everything felt distorted, like trying to see underwater. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the same place, before his brain finally realized he was looking at Natasha. Her eyes were closed and she was lying on a table. He strained his eyes until he could confirm that yes, she was breathing. He let out a small sigh of relief. He tried to call out to her, but his mouth wasn’t working correctly.

Instead, he closed his eyes tightly against the pain that felt so overwhelming. He was better than this. He should be better than this. A headache had never stopped him, before. A particularly harsh wave of throbbing pain forced a pathetic noise from his throat.

He needed to remember where he had been before this. It seemed he could barely hold onto a train of thought for more than a few seconds, and it took much longer than it should have to retrace his metaphorical steps.

AIM. They’d been at an AIM base, fighting, and it hadn’t been difficult. Fuck, pain, fuck, fuck, no, hold on, a woman. He grimaced, clenching his teeth against the effort of holding onto that tiny piece of information as he rode out a wave of pain, which felt like it was spreading, now. It was no longer contained in his head, but building there, until the wave traveled down his spine.

Steve let out a shuddering breath, and refocused. There had been a woman with green hair. She hadn’t been dressed like the other guards, with a mask around her face, and completely covered in black tactical gear. Except for her left hand, which was oddly bare. He remembered, because the other one had been gloved. They’d started fighting, and then…that’s where things became fuzzy. Well, fuzzier.

He tried to lift a hand to rub at his eyes, but it was hard to move at all. He needed to lift his hand. He’d decided to do it, so he would. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow as his whole body shook with the strain, but eventually he managed it. He forced his eyes open, staring at the hand in front of him, the scrawny arm it was connected to. A gasping noise accompanied the clang of his arm dropping back to the metal table.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

The female voice sounded bored, and Steve knew whoever it belonged to couldn’t have cared less about his state of consciousness. He turned his head, his vision swimming from that effort, so soon after lifting his hand.

“You don’t look so good, Captain Rogers,” the woman continued. She was sitting at a computer with her back to him. He could make out a white lab coat and black hair, but that was all. “Seems the anti-serum worked. I’d love to congratulate the scientists who created it,” she paused, turning in the desk chair to glare at him, “but it seems my ex’s better half killed them all.”

Steve was panting. He didn’t seem to be able to get his breathing under control. Still, he managed to gasp out a single word.

“Why?”

The woman laughed, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say it was lovely. “’Why?’ Because you’re the premiere advancement in bioenhancement. Permanent, peak physical condition, a photographic memory, healing factor, complete eradication of any imperfections, and all without the benefit of a preexisting mutation. Need I go on?”

Steve closed his eyes. He wanted to question her, see if he could get her to accidentally spill her plan, but he couldn’t catch his breath. A hand on his forehead made him weakly flinch. He hadn’t heard her walk towards him. It shouldn’t have been surprising, given the fact that he no longer had the serum, but it still shocked him. He had worked so hard to become used to his enhanced body, and now here he was, having to re-get used to his God given one, with all its limitations.

The woman removed her hand. “Banner, for all his stubbornness and intelligence, has a bleeding heart. He won’t be able to keep himself from saving you.” The tapping of a keyboard told Steve she’d moved back to the computer. “You may have noticed some slight pain.”

That smug, teasing tone grated on Steve’s ears. He managed to keep quiet, even as his body spasmed with this newest wave of agony. He wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction.

“We didn’t simply neutralize the serum,” she explained. It seemed she was going to tell Steve a bit about their plan, after all. He was lucky that megalomaniacs had a compulsive need to brag. “The anti-serum has an unfortunate side effect. Well, unfortunate for you, anyway. If Banner doesn’t manage to recreate the serum in 48 hours, your body will undergo extensive neurological decay, and you, Captain Rogers, will die.”

Steve forced his eyes to open and his head to turn. She was staring at him, twisted slightly in the chair, an arm thrown causally over its back. The very vision of calm. Steve knew he didn’t have much energy to respond, so he’d have to try and think through the pain and choose his words carefully.

“Fuck you.”

The woman wrinkled her nose at him. “Eloquent as ever, Captain,” she spat. Something seemed to catch her eye, and she stood once again. “Thanasee, darling, what are you doing here?”

A new voice, uncertain and definitely female, responded. “Is he going to be okay?”

“As long as your pathetic excuse for a father fixes him, then yes.”

“What?” Steve managed. This girl’s father wouldn’t save him, the whole point was to force Bruce to remake the serum.

The woman left his line of sight, only to return with the woman he’d fought right before his capture. The covering over her mouth and nose was gone, and he could plainly see that she was a teenager, and not a grown woman, as he’d assumed. Seeing her unlocked something in his mind, allowing him to remember that she’d simply touched him with a hand, and then his whole world had melted into agony, followed by nothingness. Steve continued to stare at her. Something about her was gnawing at his mind, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Captain Rogers, meet my daughter, Thanasee Rappaccini.”

“Carmilla Black.” The girl mumbled the correction. Her eyes flicked away from his, and Steve caught the way she seemed to be worrying her hands together.

And then it clicked.

“The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” the woman asked. It was clear from the curve of her lips that she knew he’d put the pieces together. “Between the two of us, yes, but especially between her and her father. Tell me, did he ever mention us?”

Steve resolved to remain silent, but a particularly harsh spasm caused his back to arch, and he couldn’t contain a grunt of pain.

“I just realized, I never introduced myself, did I?” The woman leaned over him as his body seized up, and whispered the rest in his ear. “Doctor Monica Rappaccini, Scientist Supreme of AIM. Lovely to officially meet you.”

By the time Steve’s body relaxed again, he was alone. Between struggling to breath and the pain that was quickly turning into full-body spasms, Steve couldn’t process all of the information he’d just learned, though he valiantly tried. Unconsciousness quickly won, in the end, and he blessedly passed back out.

***

Well, Jennifer thought as she looked around the group of agents (some in tactical gear, others in suits, and one in particular wearing a long trench coat and an eyepatch), this hadn’t exactly been what she’d pictured when she’d insisted she should go with Bruce and the others. The “sidelines” were far away from the actual base, surrounded by trees. She couldn’t see the base itself, and she strained her ears to pick up chatter from agents using comms to try and figure out what was happening. It really wasn’t all that different from staying home, Jen realized, and that made her itch to be able to somehow help.

The Avengers had convened here just long enough to talk to the guy with the eyepatch, and then they’d gone off towards the base. Bruce had hugged her tightly, practically begging her not to put herself in harm’s way. She’d only smiled at him and hugged him tighter. Watching him and the others leave had felt strangely anticlimactic, and yet, that made it more real, and therefore more terrifying.

“Ms. Walters, it’s good to see you again!”

Jen turned towards the unfamiliar voice that she could now see belonged to a smiling, middle aged man holding a disposable coffee cup. He seemed particularly nice, though she had a feeling he could easily become a force to be reckoned with, if need be. She was also certain she’d never seen this man before in her life.

“Do I know you?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone friendly in an otherwise tense situation.

“Agent Coulson,” he greeted with a nod. “We never officially met, but I was assigned to tail you back in ’08.”

Jen frowned at that, her brows drawing together and arms crossing over her chest. “Excuse me?”

Coulson had the good sense to look apologetic, though he was still smiling. “You’re Dr. Banner’s only living relative. We needed to keep an on eye on you after he approached Betty Ross. Just in case.” He shrugged.

“Well, sorry to have wasted your time.” It was unnerving to hear that this man had followed her for God knew how long, and she’d had absolutely no idea.

Coulson’s smile finally fell away. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. They say ignorance is bliss.”

With a sigh, Jen pinched the bridge of her nose. Having collected herself, she dropped her hand and looked pointedly at the armored cars and SHIELD agents. “This is all just very new to me.” Her tone was carefully polite, mimicking Coulson’s own.

“I get it. It can be overwhelming,” he agreed. “If it’s any consolation, we’re glad you’re here. This place is sure to dredge of bad memories for Dr. Banner. I think he can use all the support he can get.”

Jennifer sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. “I couldn’t just…sit there and wait.” Her gaze shifted to stare in the direction of the base, obscured by the forest. “Though, this isn’t really much different,” she admitted.

“This is always the hardest part for people like us,” Coulson agreed.

“’People like us?’”

“Unenhanced,” Coulson clarified. “I’ve become closer with Rogers than I should have, and I’ve always been too close with Barton and Romanov. Beats the alternative.” His smile was empathetic, and despite the fact that he’d managed to creep her out within five seconds of speaking to her, Jen felt her guard coming down a few inches.

“Which is?” she prompted.

“Cutting yourself off. It’s easier in the short-term, sure. But then one day you wake up, and you realize you’re alone.” He sipped casually from his cup, undercutting the weight of his statement. “It goes both ways, of course. It’s just as hard for them to open up long enough to forge a friendship.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. Oddly enough, she felt like this conversation had illuminated some of the rationale behind Bruce deciding not to contact her. The fact that it wasn’t a novel issue was also strangely comforting.

“Would you like some coffee? There’s a…” Coulson trailed off and put a hand to his ear, his attention shifting as suddenly as his demeanor. Jen noted that she’d been correct in her assumption that he could easily switch into a more commanding role.

“Understood,” Coulson replied to the voice Jen couldn’t hear, not matter how hard she tried. “No, I don’t like that either. More man power couldn’t hurt, but let’s send them in to gather intelligence. We need to find out what they were working on, and that allows the Avengers to focus solely on search and rescue.” He paused, obviously listening to the other agent’s reply. “Banner hasn’t…I understand that. I’m asking you to reevaluate the potential cost. Of course I can…Stark is there, that should be enough. This isn’t up for negotiation.” Coulson removed his hand from his ear, the conversation clearly over.

“What’s going on?” Jen asked.

“There wasn’t anyone guarding the outside of the base, or the first floor,” he explained.

Jennifer immediately picked up on the problem. These AIM bastards had wanted the other Avengers to come. “It’s a trap.”

Coulson nodded. “I’m going in with a team. There’s plenty of points for computer access, so we can steal their data while the Avengers move on to the lower levels. Gives them one less thing to worry about.”

“I’m coming.”

 “No,” Coulson immediately replied. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I came here with the intention of not simply waiting for Bruce to come home safely. I’m going to help,” she insisted.

“How exactly are you going to do that?” Coulson asked, and Jennifer wasn’t so sure how to answer. She was a lawyer. A lawyer who could handle a gun (her father had insisted she learn, and as a woman living alone in LA, she’d made sure to keep in practice), but a lawyer nonetheless. What could she possibly have to offer, in this situation?

A hand on her shoulder caused her to startle.

The brunette woman kept her hand where it was, but she wasn’t looking at Jen. “She’s going to calm the Hulk, if necessary,” she answered Coulson with a smirk.

Coulson sighed, or rather, he exhaled loudly. “Hill, I already told you, Stark is in there, and he’s been able to calm Hulk in the past,” he insisted.

“He couldn’t, last time,” Hill pointed out. “We both know that Hulk has shown a proclivity to listen to people Banner cares deeply about. Look at how he’s interacted with Betty Ross and, yes, occasionally Stark. It couldn’t hurt to have Walters in there, too.”

Her expression softened a bit, looking between the two of them. “You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” she told Jennifer. “I want to make that very clear. No one is going to force a civilian into a potentially dangerous situation against their will. But Coulson will be with you, along with a team of our best agents.”

Jennifer nodded at Hill, before turning towards Coulson, who was still very obviously against the idea. “I want to go.”

“Fine,” Coulson conceded. “You both win. But for the record, if Hulk didn’t need to be calmed down after the last time he was at an AIM base, I doubt he’ll need that, now.”

Hill raised a disbelieving brow. “I’d call a twenty-four-hour rampage that utterly destroyed any and every piece of evidence a situation where he needed to be calmed down,” she refuted.

Jennifer stayed silent throughout the exchange. Based on the footage Tony had shown her of the Hulk, she was inclined to agree with Coulson; her presence probably wasn’t necessary. She also wasn’t about to point that out, since it would keep her further away from Bruce.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind. Jen was given a bulletproof vest, as well as a firearm, after Coulson confirmed that she knew how to use it, and knew how to use it well. It seemed having him tail her had its perks, as he’d seen her shoot at the range on several occasions.

Jennifer, Coulson, and a group of five agents set off towards the base. Coulson was insistent that she stay behind him, and she wasn’t about to argue. She wanted to help, not to get herself killed, despite what Coulson thought. She’d heard him mumbling something before they’d left about her lack of self-preservation confirming that she was related to Bruce.

The base came into view much faster than Jen had anticipated. They’d barely been walking for more than ten minutes, before she could see it past the tree line. It was a simple looking building, and the lack of windows and its secluded location were perhaps the only suspicious things about it.

Coulson sent a few agents ahead to scout the area, before turning pointedly to Jen. “Our official mission is to gather intelligence,” he informed her. “In the extremely unlikely event that the Hulk finds his way to the top floor, has gone rogue, and decides to engage us,” he paused, letting her take in how very much he doubted such a situation would present itself, before continuing, “you are still to stay behind me and the other agents unless I say otherwise.”

Jen nodded.

“You aren’t going to listen to me, are you?” Coulson seemed exasperated, but if Jen didn’t know any better, she’d also say he sounded fond.

“Depends,” she replied honestly.

He put a hand to his ear, remaining silent for a long moment, before he said, “That’ll have to do. The coast is clear.”

Jen took a deep, steadying breath. As she walked towards the base, one hand on the firearm at her hip, she decided she was glad she’d had the sense not to promise Bruce anything. He would definitely consider this harm’s way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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